


Anonymous Dedications

by LacePendragon



Category: RWBY
Genre: A Field Guide by Clover Ebi, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Demisexuality, Getting Together, M/M, Pre-Canon, Romance, Spying on friends, V7 Divergence, Writing Best Selling Fanfiction of Your Pining Friends Without Their Consent, suggestive content, v7 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:15:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24084187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LacePendragon/pseuds/LacePendragon
Summary: Clover Ebi is a lot of things, if you ask him: leader of the Ace-Ops, great friend, better boyfriend, and fantastic fighter. But the one thing he is that no one knows about is a wildly popular romance author. His inspiration? His boss, James Ironwood, and his long, ridiculously drawn out nonsense with Qrow Branwen. Thankfully, they’re oblivious to his profiting off their pining. Right up until they’re not.
Relationships: Marrow Amin/Clover Ebi, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Qrow Branwen/James Ironwood
Comments: 43
Kudos: 142





	Anonymous Dedications

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LilacBellfrog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilacBellfrog/gifts).



> "What if Clover was a romance author?" asked someone in the server.  
> "Well," I said, foolishly, "I think that'd be a great, fun, oneshot. Maybe 3-5k? Give me a week and I'll post it for you."  
> Four and a half months and 30k later, I can only say, "I am Bobo the Fool and I never learn."
> 
> Enjoy, Lilac. And don't ever say I don't do anything for you.
> 
> And for what it's worth: this went from short ass love story to massive, canon-rewrite, character study, dual romance. This was supposed to be four thousand words. There's also some very low-key Elm/Vine.
> 
> FOUR. THOUSAND. WORDS.
> 
> This is all your fault, every one of you. But hey, who am I to complain?
> 
> Hope it was worth the nonsense.
> 
> Also I have very little idea how the publishing industry works. And while I could have done more research, it really wasn't the point of the fic. Hand wave it, would you?

If you asked Clover Ebi, he was great at a lot of things: being an Ace-Op, being a Huntsman, being a friend, being a _kickass_ boyfriend, but the one thing he was great at that very few people knew about was writing romance novels.

It started like this: Clover Ebi had just become the first Atlas Ace Operative, just over six years ago, and was looking for a creative outlet in his life. His mother had always loved his short stories, the ones he’d written for school, and so he’d started writing.

But his writing hadn’t gone anywhere because he lacked inspiration. For months, Clover had lamented over his stagnant story. He wanted to write a romance, a love story for the ages. Something cheesy and romantic, but also sensual and steamy. Yet, his characters felt flat and his chemistry was wooden.

And maybe it was his lack of experience – he’d never dated seriously, before – or maybe it was because Clover just plain didn’t understand romance. He never had. It felt foreign and out of reach for him. And that bothered him, a lot.

Regardless, his book was going terribly. And he needed a solution.

As luck would have it – because it always had his back – Clover stumbled across General Ironwood and Huntsman Qrow Branwen one day, when the two were arguing in the general’s office. Clover had intended to interrupt their arguing, fearing the general was outmatched, but as he’d listened, he’d realized two things.

One, General Ironwood and Qrow were old friends with more history than could be spoken of in a single, drawn out argument. And two, though he hadn’t realized it at the time, General Ironwood and Qrow Branwen were completely and irrevocably in love with each other.

And neither had any idea.

Now, there were a lot of things Clover could have done with this knowledge. He could have told the two that he’d figured out how they felt about one another. He could have ended their pining, helped them realize their feelings, and been on his merry way.

But.

_But._

General Ironwood was a stubborn man, and Clover barely knew Qrow beyond a brush in the hallway. They wouldn’t listen to him, especially when he’d have to admit to spying on them to know such things. In fact, he reasoned, his trying to help could only make things much, _much_ worse.

So, instead, he did the only thing that seemed… appropriate.

He picked up their chemistry, their frustration, their pining, and he stuffed it into his romance novel.

It worked.

He changed the names, shifted around some roles, and managed to land an agent in record time. Way to go, luck. All that was left was a pen name, because Clover was absolutely not letting anyone know it was him. He had a reputation, after all. Also, if the general knew it was him, he might try to read the book, and then Clover would be dead.

Or worse, _fired._

He ended up choosing Asher King. Asher, because that was what his father had wanted to name him, before he’d lost the battle to Clover’s mom. And King because of his weapon, Kingfisher.

That was when Clover’s career as a romance author began.

He hadn’t expected the book to do well. Maybe it would sell sort of well. Maybe it would be a niche book. He hadn’t expected it to become a lowkey bestseller and rocket to the top of niche romance book lists all over Remnant.

As it turned out, people were horny for military romances.

Clover wasn’t complaining. Not at all.

Maybe it should have ended there. After all, he had made plenty of money from the book. Plus, he was using the story of two men he knew, one of whom was his boss and also the man he trusted with his life. To do anything more would be pushing his luck.

But luck was what Clover was all about, and he wasn’t someone who much cared for moderation. Who needed moderation when he had a built-in safety net?

Of course, he probably _would_ have stopped, after that. After all, he only had a little bit of material to work with. When he started trying to write a second book, it came out either too similar to his first one, or it became wooden and unnatural.

So, he put it aside. He’d been an Ace Operative for over a year at that point and General Ironwood was working on getting him teammates. A partner, so to speak, which had Clover excited. He’d love a partner in the field.

The new team member quickly became new team _members_ , as General Ironwood chose a pair – Elm Ederne and Vine Zeki. They were teammates from Atlas Academy, a year younger than Clover and from the year below him in school. He remembered them. They’d been an incredible team, pulling off things that left Clover grinning and fascinated.

So, he didn’t get a partner, but he did get teammates, and now he had people to work with and things to do other than ponder writing another vaguely immoral romance novel.

(Immoral only because he was writing about real people who would definitely not approve of him doing so. Not because he was writing actual immoral things. Although, those sold well, as well, so maybe he should look into that. In the future, of course.)

In fact, Clover wouldn’t have written any more romance novels, except, just over a year after his first book had been published, he witnessed, once more, the pining of General Ironwood and Qrow Branwen.

Clover had been leaning against one of the columns in the solarium, the central part of the General’s suite of offices, when he heard them coming. He looked up, half stepping into the shadows just so he wasn’t in the way when they came by. He pulled his red scarf over his mouth to stifle his breathing.

General Ironwood came into the room first, gesticulating sharply in front of him. “You can’t show up out of the blue, like that. What if I hadn’t realized it was you? Air Traffic Control wants your _head._ ”

Clover furrowed his brow, wondering who the general was talking to. He didn’t have to wait long, as Qrow came into the room. His cape fluttered with his motions, his hands were stuffed in his pockets, and he sported a bruise on his cheek roughly the size of a small fist. Maybe one of the ATC women. Some of them were pretty short and lean.

“Hey, it’s not my fault your army is on a hair trigger,” snapped Qrow. General Ironwood stopped and turned, glaring at Qrow. Clover held his breath. He didn’t know why they hadn’t noticed him, yet, but he wasn’t complaining. If he stepped out, now, he’d only get in trouble. Better to wait and let them sort this out and move on, then he’d sneak out.

“Qrow. Of all the arrogant nonsense you’ve pulled—”

“Wouldn’t have to pull anything if they’d let me in when I asked!”

“We’re under tighter security, at the moment. The White Fang caused a breach last month and injured a great many soldiers,” said General Ironwood. Clover winced. He’d been part of that mission. There was still a lot of question as to how the White Fang had gotten into Atlas, and there was speculation that workers from the Mantle Dust Mines were part of it.

The questioning was almost as bad as the attack. Some of the soldiers were awful to the faunus and no amount of Clover throwing his weight around seemed to help. He wished he could do more. He’d tried attending protests, but even out of uniform, he was too damn recognizable. People got scared. So he helped from a distance, where he could.

“And I look like White Fang?” Qrow folded his arms. “This is about my name, isn’t it?”

“Qrow…”

“No, no. I get it. You know, if you didn’t want to see me, there are easier ways to do it, James. You know, like a _note_.” Qrow glared at him, the tips of his ears red. Clover frowned. What…?

“Of course I want to see you,” murmured General Ironwood. He stepped forward and rested a hand on Qrow’s shoulder. “I always want to see you.” He smiled at Qrow, apologetic. His entire posture, his voice, his _everything_ was soft in a way Clover had never seen before. “Why don’t we have dinner at my place? We can talk there.”

Qrow smiled. “Always trying to win me over,” he teased. He gave a chuckle. “Sure, Jim. Why not?”

They turned and left, leaving Clover mouthing ‘Jim’ and wondering what else they were doing, when no one was looking. He stepped out of the shadows and watched the elevator door close, lips pressed together.

Where they together? Where they still pining?

And why did he have an idea for a book, now? Or at least, the start of one. More research was required before he could do anything else with the idea. And by research, he meant he needed to see General Ironwood and Qrow together, some more.

He didn’t get the opportunity for almost three months. By that point, he, Vine, and Elm had become a very good team. They were a well-oiled machine, and Clover had ensured that they had team bonding nights, cycling between each other’s apartments, to further cement their friendship. It was nice, having friends, especially friends as cool and down to earth as Elm and Vine.

That day, three months later, he’d been sitting in the general’s office, receiving a briefing, when a text message from Qrow had popped up on the general’s screen. Clover pretended not to pay attention, but he ended up half reading the text, and the response, out of the corner of his eye.

Qrow was coming to Atlas. He wanted to get dinner. General Ironwood agreed and offered to pay.

It was such a small thing, such a tiny detail, but it left Clover thinking for hours after. Letters, pining, dinner. It all spun together in his head. He found himself getting out of bed a few nights later to scribble down ideas.

And that was how book number two came to be.

It was a combination of prose and epistolary style. Letters showcasing the growing relationship between a spy in the army and a retired commander who couldn’t leave his office work due to old injuries. They weren’t supposed to know one another, let alone be friends, but a misaddressed letter led to the start of a beautiful relationship. When the two finally met in person, the slow burn of their romance because unbearable, even for Clover, and he spun a tale of the spy becoming horribly injured and being brought back to the commander’s city. The commander worried at the bedside of the spy while the latter recovered. The spy eventually woke up, the two kissed, and the spy retired to become an instructor in the military.

Curtains down, call for applause.

He sent it off to his agent and grinned when he ended up at the mercy of an editor. And, once more, he was off to the presses, so to speak.

Book number two under his belt. Yet another military romance.

And yet another bestseller in the niche romance market.

Dear Gods. What was happening to his life?

He found himself, once it was published, scrolling the reviews on various book websites and found that the middling ones said much the same thing: the romance was beautiful, but they missed the steamy scenes of the first book.

Clover vowed, reading those reviews, to make his next book much, _much_ steamier. So steamy that it would scandalize.

…Which meant he was planning to write a third book. Wonderful.

Not long after this, the Ace-Ops received their fourth member. Clover had hoped that the newest member would be his partner, but their fighting styles, and semblances, didn’t mesh well. It seemed the general was planning to add more members to their team, after her.

Her name was Harriet Bree and Clover thought she was fantastic.

She was sassy, she was feisty, and she had a hunger for fighting that Clover couldn’t imagine having. It seemed like every inch of her short, muscular body was filled with a burning desire to kick ass and take names.

He could respect that.

Harriet resisted becoming friends with the others in a way that Clover hadn’t expected, and Elm seemed to be following her lead. Clover doubled down on game nights and chatting with members during pre- and post-mission travel and briefings. Still, he needed something more to bring Harriet into the fold, something that would properly push her into wanting to be part of their team, their family, and bring Elm back in as well.

Of course, while Clover was juggling that, he was also dealing with missions, trying to help with the growing tensions between Mantle and Atlas, working as a guest lecturer and mission overseer for students at the academy, and, _and_ , trying to write a third book.

But Qrow wasn’t in Atlas, lately, and that left Clover without inspiration for his third book.

Just as he was getting success with Harriet, and just as he was beginning to think he’d need to borrow inspiration from another pining pair – not that anyone would come _close_ to General Ironwood and Qrow – Qrow showed up in Atlas.

Clover wanted, so badly, to spy on the two, even though he knew it was inappropriate. Not just for his books, but also because he was genuinely invested in their love story, and because he was rooting for General Ironwood. He wanted the two men to end up together. He wanted them to have their happily ever after. General Ironwood deserved to be happy, so did Qrow, and it was clear they made each other happy. Now if only they could confess to one another.

It was wrong. He knew it was wrong. So he didn’t.

As luck would have it, he didn’t have to.

Because Clover found out _precisely_ what happened, just a few days later.

He turned up in the office to speak with General Ironwood and stood in the solarium, waiting for General Ironwood to open his office door and allow him in.

That was when he heard shouting, cursing, and snarling from the office. Clover tensed, listening into the noise.

What he parsed out made him grimace and shrink back.

General Ironwood and Qrow had a one-night stand. Apparently, it hadn’t ended well. Apparently, they were now arguing over it.

The door swung open and Clover leapt into the shadows, hiding behind a pillar as Qrow stalked away, the anger coming off him in waves. He shoved passed a plant, barely brushing it, and the plant fell over. Qrow swore, kicked the vase, which shattered, and stomped into the elevator.

Clover exhaled, slow, and waited.

He gave it five minutes before he went to see General Ironwood. When he did, the general seemed morose, but otherwise stable as always. Clover clenched his hands together behind his back. The general was hurting but refused to admit it.

Clover had two thoughts. First, he needed to help the general with his love life.

Second, he had an idea for his third book. And he wasn’t sure if he hated himself for it or not.

* * *

The third book spun out from his mind and his fingertips between growing missions in Mantle and in cleaning Grimm out of future Dust mine locations. It was the story of two friends in the military, one a captain and the other a special operative. They argued endlessly about the war, about the soldiers, about the mission, all while pretending they weren’t falling in love. The arguments and fear culminated the night before the start of a dangerous operation in a passionate night of sex.

The special operative slipped out before dawn. The two didn’t have a chance to speak about what happened, because of that.

Clover got stuck, there, unsure how to continue on. He put the story aside, trying to wrack his brain for ideas.

But, before he could sort it out, his life changed again, as the fifth and final member of the Ace-Ops joined the team.

Marrow Amin.

“Clover,” called General Ironwood, as Clover stepped into his office. “Please, come here. I’d like to introduce you to someone.”

Clover crossed the space and looked at the man standing in front of General Ironwood. He was a few inches shorter than Clover, with brilliant eyes and a warm, dark complexion. He smiled, shy, when he caught Clover’s eyes, ducking his head slightly. His hair was long and held back, but half still in his face. His uniform was identical to that of the low ranked Specialists, with the coat tails and blue pants. And from between his coat tails was a bushy tail, probably a dog’s.

Clover smiled at him, bright.

“Hi,” said Clover. “Nice to meet you.”

“This is Marrow Amin,” said General Ironwood, gesturing to the man. “He graduated top of his class, just over two and a half years ago. I’ve been watching him the last few months to see if he’d fit your team. I believe he and Harriet would be a good pair.”

Clover nodded, his gaze darting from General Ironwood to Marrow. “So. you’re the new teammate?” He grinned. “Fantastic. We could use the help.” He held out his hand and Marrow stared for a moment. Clover cocked an eyebrow at him. Marrow’s ears darkened and he took Clover’s hand, shaking it.

“Y-yeah. Thanks,” said Marrow. “It’s nice to meet you too.” He was blushing, as much as he could, and Clover couldn’t help his grin. This man was too adorable. It’d be nice to have someone so sweet on the team. And young, too. Two and a half years out meant he was what, twenty-three? Twenty-four? That put him just over four years younger than Clover, and two years younger than Harriet, the next youngest member.

“Why don’t you show him the ropes?” said General Ironwood. “Your team will move out on the weekend. There’s a Geist infestation in the west tunnels of the Crystalized Caves.”

“Infestation?” echoed Marrow. “Like, multiple? I thought Geists were solitary.”

“They are,” said Clover. “Which means something big is going on to bring a group of them, together.”

General Ironwood nodded. “Precisely. I need your operatives to sweep the caves, find out what’s causing the infestation, and eliminate the threat.” He levelled Clover with a firm gaze that had Clover snapping to attention. “Can I trust you with this task?”

“Sir, yes sir,” said Clover, giving a sharp salute. “We won’t let you down, General.”

“You never do,” said General Ironwood, a small smile on his face. He nodded. “Dismissed.”

Clover grinned. “Come on, Marrow, let’s go.” He led Marrow out of the office and through the solarium, before entering the elevator. It was only then that he turned to look over Marrow, once more, this time with an eye for his skill as a Specialist. He seemed lean, but not willowy, like Vine. As covered as he was, it was hard to see if there was any definition to his muscle, but Clover suspected he had some decent leg muscles, if only for the way his pants clung to his thighs.

_Nice._

“Excited?” asked Clover. “Being an Ace-Op is a pretty big deal.” He grinned. “Or, so I’ve been told.” He winked, trying to play off the known fact that he was the first.

Marrow ducked his head, but he was smiling. “Very,” he said. His tailed wagged behind him, as if to confirm his words. “I’ve always wanted to be an Ace-Op. You guys were always the coolest operatives in Atlas. You help people in desperate situations, take on Grimm no one else does, and you have a direct connection to General Ironwood, who’s one of the best leaders Atlas has ever had—” He stopped short, skin darkening a fraction, and bit his lower lip. “Sorry.”

Clover felt his cheeks hurt from how hard he was grinning. “No, keep going. I love this,” said Clover. “Not a lot of people speak their minds like you just did. It’s refreshing.”

It was. Harriet pretended that becoming an Ace-Op had been a foregone conclusion for her, based on her semblance and her skill. She also tended to only speak up when she was bragging or snarking. Vine talked poetry, but only when it was just himself and Clover, because he worried Elm and Harriet would tease him. Clover didn’t think Elm would, but it was sometimes hard to get a read on her. She loved to be positive and upbeat, and when she was negative or sarcastic, it always surprised Clover.

Tricky, to say the least.

“Really?” asked Marrow, his tail wagging a little harder. “Thanks, man.” He cleared his throat. “The Ace-Ops were always amazing, and I always wanted to be part of you – the team, I mean.” His face darkened a bit more. Clover kept grinning. “Plus, you have a real chance to dig in and change how things are _done_ in Atlas, to shape the future of hunting and laws and all that.” He clenched his hands together in front of him, looking excited. Then, just as quickly, he drooped. “I didn’t think I was good enough, to be honest.”

Clover slung an arm around Marrow’s shoulders. Marrow jumped a little, but settled beneath Clover’s arm just as quickly.

“Hey, cheer up. If you’re here, that means you’re great. Plus, General Ironwood waits until he finds the perfect hunter is _all_ aspects before he calls one in. That means you’re the best of the best, just like the rest of us,” he said. He winked. “And as the final member of our team, that means you’re something special.”

“You think?” asked Marrow, his tail wagging again and his eyes lighting up.

Clover nodded. “I know,” he replied.

“Thanks, Clover.”

* * *

Introductions went… both worse and better than Clover expected. The group was meeting up in one of the bars meant for Specialists. On the way in, Clover gave Marrow the best advice he could.

“Just be the most confident version of yourself that you can be,” said Clover, clapping Marrow on the shoulder. “That’s what’s important to them. Confidence.”

“Confidence,” said Marrow, nodding. “Got it.”

Stepping around a handful of Specialists and officers that were chatting around the bar, despite the early evening, Clover led Marrow into the bar.

Vine, Elm, and Harriet were waiting in their usual booth. They’d already ordered drinks, Elm had a plate of half-eaten nachos in front of her, and Harriet was stacking creamers in a pyramid, rapid style, and disassembling them just as fast.

“Clover,” said Elm, beaming at him. “Ah, I see you brought the fresh meat.”

“His arms are empty, Elm,” said Vine.

Elm sighed and threw an arm around his shoulders. “It’s a metaphor, Vine. He brought the newbie, and that means we get to bug him.”

“I see,” said Vine. “I do not wish to bug him.” He nodded to Clover. “Was that all your meeting with General Ironwood entailed?”

Clover opened his mouth to reply, but Harriet cut him off. She narrowed her eyes at Marrow and scoffed.

“Aren’t you kind of young to be an Ace-Op? What exactly do _you_ do?” she asked. She leaned back in her seat and propped both elbows on the back of the booth, one eyebrow quirked up. “You’re supposed to be my partner, right? I’m not impressed.”

Clover watched Marrow and saw the slight droop of his shoulders. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying anything. Marrow needed to stand on his own two feet. If his first interaction with the team was Clover protecting him, the team would never let that go.

“The way I see it,” said Marrow, a cocky tone to his voice that had Clover’s eyebrows raising. “I think it says more about you, than me, that I’m the youngest. That means the general had to go through every Specialist above me and _still_ couldn’t find someone to work with you.” Marrow folded his arms and his mouth quirked up on one side. “Maybe you’re just _that_ hard to work with.”

Harriet squawked and shot up, knocking over her cream pyramid. “Hey, I’m a great teammate, right Clover?”

Clover shrugged. “I think he has a point, Harriet. You are pretty stubborn sometimes.”

Harriet narrowed her eyes. “What does that make you, Mr. Forever Alone? You’ve never had a partner.”

“Some of us are good enough that we don’t need them,” replied Clover, shrugging. Even if he _did_ want one. Even if he did worry about not having anyone to watch his back in the field, sometimes. But he’d made do, and he and his team were always close together. “Now, move over.”

The three shifted in the semi-circular booth. Marrow and Clover sat on the side opposite to Harriet. She eyed Marrow with narrowed eyes.

“You like hot wings?” asked Elm.

“I’d like to know if Clover has anymore details from his briefing,” said Vine.

“I do,” said Marrow. “Can probably eat hotter ones than you.”

“Oh, bring it on,” said Harriet, punching a fist into her open palm.

“We have a mission coming up,” said Clover, throwing an arm around the back of the booth, above Marrow’s head. “Geist infestation. Multiple targets.”

Harriet and Marrow were eyeing each other across the table. Elm let out a low whistle.

“Multiples? Shit, when do we leave?” she asked.

“Friday night. I suspect we’ll be gone a few days,” said Clover. He stretched his legs a bit and started when he bumped into Marrow’s. Flashing Marrow an apologetic smile, he said, “Pack light. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover without transport. Those caves are deep and I suspect we’ll be going into their depths. Looking at a multi hour hike in and out of the cave.”

Harriet finally seemed to realize what they were talking about. “Wait, multiple Geists? What bullshit is that?”

“Believe me, Harriet, I wish I knew,” said Clover. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his free arm. “What do you say we order some food and ignore it, for now. We’ve got days before we go and I think we’re due for some team bonding.”

Elm and Harriet both groaned.

To Marrow, Elm said, “He’s obsessed with making sure we’re all friends outside of work. Personally, I don’t see what the big deal is, but he’s the boss.” Clover bit the inside of his cheek to keep from replying. Elm had loved being friends until Harriet showed up. Now she just wanted to be like Harriet.

He was going to undo this shit if it killed him.

“I think it’s cool,” said Marrow. Clover felt something against his hip and realized it was Marrow’s tail beating against him. He cracked a smile at that. Good to see Marrow was already adjusting. “You know, bonds are important.”

“Not my preferred kind, if you catch my drift,” said Harriet, drily.

Clover snorted. “As if we’re at _all_ each other’s type.” His own voice was just as dry.

Harriet grinned. “Nah, you’d need tits first.”

“And you’d need to lose yours,” replied Clover. Marrow looked between the two, his brow furrowed, and then his expression softened, no doubt as he realized the implications. “So, Marrow. What do you wanna eat?”

* * *

The Geist infestation was only the first mission of many that the newly filled team went on, over the next few months. Between that, showing Marrow the ropes in Atlas, team bonding, and team training, Clover didn’t have a lot of time for his book. Not that it mattered much, because he was still stuck on the aftermath of the passionate night of angry, fearful sex. The two were separated, each going into the battlefield their own way, and Clover had no ideas how to fill them. He had a small cast of side characters, but they weren’t fleshed out enough to help carry this portion of the story, and he had no idea what the culmination would look like.

Clover had never survived an argument like that with a partner. Mostly because he didn’t keep partners around all that long. So, he had no frame of reference for what he was trying to write. General Ironwood and Qrow weren’t helping. The men still weren’t talking to each other, and Clover had caught General Iroonwood staring longingly at Qrow’s contact page on his Scroll more than one.

Luck, and all that.

But his agent was asking where the next book was, so Clover sent her what he had and told her he was stuck. That he welcomed any ideas she had.

And then he promptly forgot about it, again, for a little while, so he could focus on the events in Atlas.

There was a big event in Mistral, some kind of cultural festival that needed security was coming up, and plenty of soldiers were going alongside General Ironwood, to both protect and enjoy it. The Ace-Ops were remaining behind to serve as guards for both Atlas and Mantle. Clover had heard rumours of an upstart, about his age, in Mantle, and she seemed to be turning heads.

Her and her merry band of thieves. Clover didn’t know who she was, yet, but he had an inkling. An inkling that made him think of an old classmate.

Mostly, he looked the other way and erased those mission board postings. She wasn’t taking anything from Atlas that was needed. All of it was earmarked for Mantle and then grabbed by the SDC, anyway. And Jacques Schnee could deal with his money lined pockets missing a few bills, for once in his sleazy life.

Without General Ironwood around, Clover found he had a lot more spare time. He hadn’t realized how much time he spent with the General until he was gone. It was… strange, to say the least, and Clover wasn’t sure how to fill that time.

He decided on team bonding nights.

Which… everyone but Marrow refused. Vine was working at a dojo in Atlas, promoting peace and mindfulness to younger students, pre-Academy days. Harriet said no because she thought it was lame, and it appeared Elm was following Harriet’s lead. Again.

Gods, he needed to figure that out. He was exhausted just thinking about Elm’s need to fit in with Harriet. Maybe she’d never had any girl friends before? Maybe she was used to women not liking her? Maybe she thought Harriet was just cooler and better than all of them?

Clover didn’t know. He needed to get her one-on-one and talk to her, because this was getting ridiculous.

With just him and Marrow, Clover ended up choosing a movie night at his apartment. He made the popcorn, Marrow brought the drinks, and the two tucked up on his couch and enjoyed some cheesy action movies for a few hours.

After the end of the second action movie, Marrow groaned and leaned back on the couch, his head tilted back to stare at the ceiling.

“Gods, I don’t think I can stand another mindless action movie,” said Marrow, closing his eyes and putting a hand over his face. “You got any other options, dude?”

Clover shrugged. “Just what’s on. Looks like romance movies, mostly.” He looked at Marrow, raising both eyebrows. “Don’t suppose you’re into those?”

Marrow’s ears darkened and he gave a sort of half-smile, half-grimace, dropping his hand from his face so Clover could see the whole thing. “I mean… some romance movies are nice.” He sounded hesitant, awkward.

Clover went for encouraging. “Which ones?”

“The gay ones,” said Marrow, mostly mumbled.

Clover’s eyebrows went higher. He grinned. “Man after my own heart,” he said. He threw an arm around the back of the couch, brushing Marrow’s hair as he did. “Let’s see if we can find one, shall we?”

Marrow smiled, settling back against the couch and watching as Clover flipped through the channels. Clover found a channel playing a movie filmed in Mistral, about a huntsman who fell in love with a faunus man with a long, sleek cat tail. The story followed the two men as they battled bandits who’d killed the huntsman’s teammates, years prior.

It was a long, intense movie, filled with brilliant fight scenes and a slow burn romance that involved sharing a sleeping bag. At one point, the huntsman was poisoned by a Grimm and had to be cared for by the faunus, protecting him from Grimm and bandits until they found and anti-venin that saved his life.

Healed, the two kissed, their bodies coming together within the sleeping bag in a scene that panned up to the shattered moon before fading away.

The climax of the movie had Clover on the edge of his seat, grinning as he watched the huntsman and faunus fight the bandits back to back, taking them down and getting the closure the huntsman needed and the bounty the faunus needed.

Another kiss, a question of the future, a promise of a home, together, and roll credits.

It was fantastic and Clover was glad he’d watched it. He fell back into the couch as the credits rolled and smiled at Marrow, who had tears in his eyes.

“You okay?” asked Clover. He reached his arm around the couch and dropped his hand onto Marrow’s shoulder.

“Good,” said Marrow, voice a croak. He smiled at Clover. “I’ve never seen a movie with a cross-species relationship.” He reached up and wiped at his eyes, sniffling. “And it had a _happy ending._ ”

Clover’s heart ached at those words. Were those relationships so rare? Were faunus-human relationships not in movies or books? He’d never read one, never seen one before. It bothered him, that he hadn’t noticed until Marrow had pointed it out.

“Oh,” said Clover. “Well, I’m glad you got that. I thought it was pretty fantastic, too. Maybe one of my favourites.” He paused, thinking about it for a long minute, then said, “Definitely one of my favourites. Might have to write something based on it.”

Marrow gave him a raised eyebrow look. “You write?” There was a curious tone to his voice that had Clover’s ears burning.

_Oops._

Why was it so easy to talk to Marrow? Especially about things that he didn’t share with anyone else. They’d only known each other for a couple of months, but it was _nice_ to have someone to talk to about anything and everything.

“Uh, not really,” said Clover, rubbing the back of his neck. “Kind of a hobby, you know?” A lie, and one that didn’t fall as easily as he wanted it to. But he wasn’t used to lying about this, because it never came up. No one expected Clover to be a writer. Most people thought he was just dumb, obedient muscle.

Not accurate. At all.

“I’d like to read some of it, sometime,” said Marrow, smiling shyly at him. “If that’s okay.” His tail beat against the couch, slow and quiet.

Clover opened his mouth to protest, to turn him down to find an excuse, but the soft way Marrow looked at him, the kind way he spoke, the hope and hesitation that blurred together in his eyes… it all made it impossible for Clover to lie, to argue.

“Sure,” he croaked. “I’ll see what I can dig up for you.”

Marrow grinned. He checked the clock on the wall and huffed. “Shoot, I gotta go. Transport to my neighbourhood stops soon.” He got to his feet and flashed an apologetic smile at Clover. “Sorry to run.”

Clover stood, as well, and brushed his hands on his pants. They were sweaty, but he didn’t know why. “Yeah, sure,” said Clover. He cleared his throat. “We should do this again, sometime.”

Marrow’s smile turned so sweet that Clover’s jaw hurt just looking at him. His tail wagged back and forth behind him and his cheeks darkened, a little dorky grimace on his face as he swatted at his tail.

“That’d be great,” said Marrow, his voice a little squeaky. “Maybe next weekend?”

“Next weekend,” said Clover, following Marrow as he headed toward the door of Clover’s apartment. Marrow put on his boots and opened the door. “It’s a date.”

_Oops._

Marrow stared at him, his eyes going wide. He squeaked again. “Right! Yeah. Of course.” He coughed. “See you then.” And then he was gone, all but running down the hall and away from Clover. Clover closed the door and turned, leaning back against it with a groan. He tilted his head back and let it thump against the wall.

God _damn it._

* * *

The movie, and Marrow, unlocked something in Clover. He went back into his draft and rewrote it, not completely, but quite a bit. It took research, it took studying, it took a lot of going through forums that got a lot of racist assholes in them, but he was determined. Seeing Marrow’s face when they got to the end of that movie changed something in Clover.

He wanted to give Marrow another happy ending in a love story.

So the ace operative became a faunus, a raven faunus, to be specific. He had massive wings that allowed him to glide and fly with help of gravity Dust, which he kept on his person at all times. It was a trait that couldn’t be hidden and the operative dealt with that quite a lot. The captain wasn’t racist, but was part of a racist army, and had to deal with that as well.

It changed their dynamic, twisting the power balance far in favour of the captain, and the captain tried to be aware of that as a way to fight off his attraction to the operative.

The night of passion had to be rewritten, because the operative couldn’t lay on his back with those wings. It changed the tone of the sex scene, because now they were closer, the operative in the captain’s lap, arms around each other. It made everything more intimate and softer, which made the morning after even worse.

And now Clover had an idea how to keep going. A note left by the operative, destroyed before the captain saw it by a jealous operative who thought the captain deserved better than a faunus. Angst, misunderstandings, both of them thinking that the other didn’t care, didn’t think anything of their night together. The culmination of the war.

The battle raged, with Clover studying the Great War for help, and the operative and captain ended up back to back, arguing with one another while fighting the enemy.

A kiss, a flare of wings knocking a few enemy soldiers over, and the army turning the tide on the enemy. And then the aftermath, with the captain and operative talking, the confessions, and a second sex scene to mirror the first. An ending that showed they’d always be together, as they worked to rebuild their kingdom.

Clover’s rewrites and new writes were done between missions and outings. He pulled Elm aside and spoke to her, trying to understand what was bothering her. She wanted Harriet to like her, and she felt like Vine was sick of her. So, Clover grabbed Vine and they all had that discussion, as well.

As it turned out, Vine wasn’t sick of Elm.

He had a crush on her.

Well. That was that problem solved, or at least he thought it was, considering when he left them, they were making out.

It left a weird feeling in his stomach, an emptiness.

Maybe he needed to eat.

The second weekend of watching movies with Marrow went well. They watched more gay movies, and Marrow and Clover had the problem of accidentally finding a very _racist_ movie that left a bad taste in Clover’s mouth before they switched it off, which was about a third of the way in.

“Sorry,” he’d said.

“It’s fine,” Marrow had replied, but he’d seemed upset. Hesitantly, Clover had wrapped his arms around Marrow and pulled him close. They’d stayed together, watching baking shows, while Clover scrolled through online forums and tried to find another faunus-human romance. He couldn’t, but he found a faunus-faunus romance available on-demand, which was between a polar bear faunus from Mantle and a frilled lizard faunus from Menagerie. Their temperature differences kept them apart, even as they wanted to be together. It got four out of five paw prints on the faunus movie masterlist.

He’d put that movie on, Marrow had loved it, Clover had enjoyed it and learned about faunus body differences, they’d both blushed awkwardly through the far-too-on-screen sex scene that Clover hadn’t known about, and Marrow had left afterward, the two of them awkward and flustered at the door.

“Same time next weekend?” asked Marrow, his tail wagging behind him.

“We have a mission,” said Clover, unable to keep the frustration out of his voice. “But after, I promise.”

“Great. It’s a date.” And then Marrow was gone and Clover was leaning against the door again, grinning as his heart beat hard in his chest.

What was this feeling? Was it a crush? He’d never felt like this before over someone. Thought the butterflies were an exaggeration that most people just pretended to believe in.

He’d been wrong.

_These_ were butterflies.

He never wanted them to stop.

* * *

His agent loved the third book. As it turned out, she was a faunus, something Clover hadn’t known. Blind spots and all that. She commended him on his sensitive portrayal of faunus issues and asked if he’d be all right with being sent to a sensitivity reader before being sent to his editor. Clover agreed, obviously, because why the hell wouldn’t he? He wasn’t a faunus. He didn’t know what was accurate and what was racist. He’d done his research, but he couldn’t be perfect. A sensitivity reader was a great idea.

And so, off it went.

That left Clover with some time on his hands, and that led him to the other dilemma on his growing list of dilemmas.

The General’s love life.

That was something Clover had no idea how to handle. He wasn’t well-versed in love lives, nor romance, beyond media consumption and his own writing, and Qrow wasn’t around much. So, what could he do about it?

Well, he had one benefit. The Vytal Festival was coming up fast and General Ironwood was planning on going with his students and bringing much of his army. Considering Qrow was from Vale, and his nieces, according to General Ironwood, went to Beacon Academy, it seemed likely that Qrow would turn up in Vale. If Clover could swing going to Vale, he could hunt down Qrow and maybe push them together.

And then General Ironwood told him the Ace-Ops weren’t going.

“What do you mean?” asked Clover, standing in Ironwood’s office. Winter stood off to the side, fiddling with her cufflinks. He liked her travelling outfit. Standard Specialist wear wasn’t worn outside of Atlas, as a rule, which was something else Clover had been looking forward to. He’d wanted to break out a new outfit, like Winter.

“With the number of operatives I’m taking to Vale, we won’t need the Ace Operatives in the kingdom,” said General Ironwood. He stood behind his desk with his hands clasped behind him, in parade rest. “I need your team here, protecting the kingdom and ensuring the safety and continued repairs of Mantle.”

Clover tried not to deflate. He understood why they were being left behind, but it didn’t make it less upsetting. He’d wanted to see Vale, to watch the tournament, to eat all the food, and maybe, maybe, find a beautiful place in Vale to talk to Marrow in, beneath the stars. Find a suitably romantic place to kiss him, to confess his feelings.

He’d been thinking about that a lot, too. His thoughts were consumed with Marrow, even if he knew it wasn’t the smartest idea. But Marrow seemed to like him back, if Clover wasn’t being a complete idiot about it, and he wanted to see where it went.

Dating was foreign to him, but he wanted to try.

“I understand, sir,” said Clover, nodding. “We’ll do our best and hold down the fort while you’re gone.”

General Ironwood smiled. “I know. I can always count on you, Clover.”

They spoke for a few more minutes, focusing on the tasks in Mantle and in trade. General Ironwood wanted to ensure that Mantle’s outer walls were repaired before he returned. There were three holes in the wall currently being monitored at all times. Two were on the way to being fully repaired and one was still having its repairs planned.

Clover made plans to monitor all three on a rotating schedule, with focus on Elm and Vine in the third location more often. They were better heavy hitters than the others.

With that settled, Clover and Winter were dismissed and left the office to head for the elevator.

“Are you looking forward to seeing Vale?” asked Clover, as they waited.

Winter side-eyed him with a flatness that Clover thought only belonged on tables.

“You were a student last time Vale had its Vytal Festival, weren’t you?” asked Clover.

Winter hummed. “I was. It was… chaotic. Different from the other kingdoms in ways I hadn’t expected.”

“In a good way?” asked Clover, furrowing his brow.

Winter hummed, non-committal. Clover sighed. She’d never been much of a conversationalist, but this was just ridiculous.

“You are up to date on the fraternization rules for the Atlas military, aren’t you?” asked Winter. Clover blinked a few times.

“What?”

“The fraternization rules. Members of the Atlas military of different ranks—”

“Cannot engage in romantic relationships. However, high class Specialists, such as the Ace Operatives and right hands of the General are exempt from such rules, due to rank being based on the military proper, and not the specific sect in which they work,” said Clover, finishing her words. “While we’re not permitted to date those of vastly differing ranks outside of our fields, we can within our fields.” He raised an eyebrow. “Is this about Elm and Vine? They’re the same rank, Winter.”

Winter frowned. “No. It’s about you and Marrow.”

_Oh._

“Huh,” said Clover. He reached up and touched the back of his neck. The elevator dinged and they got in, pushing the button for the first floor. “I’m only one rank above Marrow, which isn’t applicable in this case, anyway.”

Winter raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t it? The newest operative and the captain?” She hummed and clasped her hands behind her, in parade rest. “It seems to be that, if one wasn’t aware of who you were, they might assume you were targeting the most vulnerable member of your team.” She raised a singular eyebrow at him. “Do you agree?”

Clover’s chest tightened and he swallowed, hard. He’d never thought about it, that way. But, that wasn’t at all right. Was it? He and Marrow had never acknowledged that Clover was technically ranked higher than him. No one ever did, on the team. It was just a formality.

But would other people see it that way? Winter had a point. Marrow was the youngest, the newest, the most eager to please, and a faunus, to boot. But Marrow was the more assertive with the “date” comments that Clover was, and Clover had never put any pressure on him.

If other people had a problem with that, it wasn’t up to him to fix that. He knew what they were, and where he wanted to go, and he knew he needed to talk to Marrow.

That was what was important.

“I don’t,” said Clover, frowning slightly. “Marrow and I know where we stand, Winter. What other people think isn’t my problem.”

“Actually, it is.” Winter gave him a sharp look. “You are Ace Operatives. You represent Atlas, but more importantly, you represent General Ironwood. If civilians or soldiers perceive you as a predator, that comes back on him.” The elevator dinged open. “I suggest you remember that.”

Clover ground his teeth and watched her go.

Marrow was a _grown ass man._ And Winter had no idea what she was talking about.

He took it back. He didn’t like her new outfit.

It made her too self-important.

* * *

Clover wasn’t a great cook. He could do some cooking, but not a ton. He’d never had a reason to learn, what with his parents being Atlas elite and having a private cook, then in Atlas Academy he’d had the cafeteria, and he’d made enough money ever since to eat out as often as he wanted. But, despite all that, Clover wanted to make Marrow a nice dinner. Marrow was coming over to watch a new movie and Clover had told him not to bring food, because he was going to handle it.

Tonight was the night. He was going to confess to Marrow. He’d planned it out and he had spent hours figuring out how to phrase it. Winter’s words echoed in his head, no matter how many times he pushed them back, and he’d struggled with them for days since she’d spoken to him.

But he wasn’t going to let it deter him. He was relatively certain that Marrow liked him back – a step down from being absolutely certain, which he’d been a week ago, but that didn’t matter – and he knew how it would effect the team, because Elm and Vine had been together for a while. They were cute together, and they’d never let it hurt the team dynamic. Even as partners, even always working together, it hadn’t hurt the team dynamic. In fact, it seemed like it had helped the team.

Harriet was always rolling her eyes, though. But Harriet didn’t have a romantic bone in her body, so her opinion on romance didn’t matter.

Strange, how things had changed. Clover would have said _his_ opinion on romance didn’t matter, not that long ago.

Back to the point, Clover was making pasta, because pasta was easy and classic romance, according to the many books and movies Clover had absorbed since he’d started writing romance novels. Pasta and spaghetti sauce, the recipe grabbed from some cooking website with great reviews.

Cutting vegetables was harder than he’d thought, especially when there were a lot, but he’d managed to get everything cut, the meat cooked, and the sauce on the stove to cook down. That left him with plenty of time to make the garlic butter and grate the cheese for the cheesy garlic bread. Plus, he still had to boil the water for the pasta, but the website said the sauce took a while, so he left that while he grated cheese.

By the time Clover got the pasta on, the bread broiling in the oven, and the kitchen cleaned up, there was a knock on his door.

He hurried to the door, brushed off his hands on the back of his pants, and opened the door.

Marrow smiled shyly up at him, holding a bouquet of red, pink, and orange tulips in front of him.

“Marrow,” said Clover, smiling. He looked at the bouquet, wrinkling his nose.

Marrow held them out. “I couldn’t find roses,” he mumbled.

Clover’s heart clenched. _Oh._ So, he had been right. Marrow did feel the same way. _Yes._

Clover took the bouquet and leaned in, pressing a kiss to Marrow’s cheek. Marrow started, his tail wagging hard behind him, and Clover smiled at him, soft.

“I love them,” he said. “Come on in, dinner’s almost ready.”

“Did you make pasta?” asked Marrow, following him into the apartment.

“I did,” said Clover. “That all right?” He dug out the only vase he owned, under the sink, and filled it with water, setting the flowers in them, before moving to place the bouquet on the small table he had in his dining area. “There we go.”

“Yeah, I love spaghetti,” said Marrow. He leaned against the wall into the kitchen and smiled at Clover, fidgeting with his sleeves. He was dressed up for the night in a dark blue button-down and a pair of black pants. The look was good, and Marrow’s hair was swept up into a cleaner version of its usual bun. Clover had dressed up as well, in dark grey pants and a white button-down. He had the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, because sleeves always made him feel strange.

“You look great,” said Clover.

Marrow flushed and ducked his head. “So do you.”

Clover wracked his brain to find something that would kill the awkward tension that seemed to permeate his entire apartment. Before he could, the timer for his things went off, and he hurried into the kitchen to finish everything.

Strain the pasta, pull out the bread, and then plate everything. He made sure they both had everything, grabbed the plates, and headed to the dining table, where he’d already set up glasses and a light red wine that he’d researched (by calling Vine and begging for his help).

“Wow,” said Marrow, sitting across from Clover. “You really went all out.” There was a quite awe in his voice that got a flush rising in Clover’s cheeks.

“Yeah, well,” Clover gave an awkward shrug and picked up the wine. “Tonight is important to me.” He opened the wine and held it out to Marrow, who nodded and lifted his glass. Clover poured him a glass, then himself. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” said Marrow. He sipped it and hummed. “Oh, that’s really good.”

“Blame Vine,” said Clover, drily. “The man knows his drinks, for some unknown reason.”

Marrow chuckled. “Probably to impress Elm.”

“Probably,” agreed Clover. He’d never thought of it that way, before, but it made sense. He’d done the same thing for Marrow, hadn’t he? Why wouldn’t Vine do the same thing for Elm? What dorks they were.

“So, uh, tonight is important to you?” asked Marrow, twirling his pasta around his fork with a deft ease that Clover had never perfected.

“Yeah,” said Clover, trying to mimic him. He mostly managed. Only a little pasta fell off and made him look a little sloppy. “I mean…” He sighed, trying to find the words. “You bought me flowers, Marrow.” That didn’t come out, right. But he couldn’t take it back now.

“Yeah, I did, um, was I not supposed to?” Marrow stared across the table at him through his long, delicate eyelashes.

“No, I mean, yes. I mean…” Clover sighed. “I’m glad you did.” He reached across the table and laid his hand near Marrow’s. “I wanted you to.”

“You did?” Marrow’s tail beat against the back of the chair. He grimaced. “Stupid tail.” He went to grab it and Clover frowned.

“Don’t,” he said, voice tighter than he meant it to. Marrow stopped, staring at Clover. Clover blushed. “I like your tail.” He stared at the plate, face burning. “It’s part of you, and even if it gives you away, sometimes, I like that it keeps you honest.” He lifted his gaze to meet Marrows’ which was soft and confused. “Your whole… earnest thing is one of my favourite parts of you.”

Marrow smiled. His tail kept beating against the chair. “Really?” The hope in his voice made Clover’s smile spread.

“Really.” He reached across the table and held out his hand, Marrow reached back. They tangled their fingers together. “Tonight’s important to me because… I wanted to make this our first real date,” said Clover. He swallowed against the lump in his throat and forced himself to breathe evenly. “I like you, Marrow. A lot, actually. More than I’ve ever liked anyone.” His face was burning, his ears hurt from how hot they were, and he could barely hear himself over the roaring in them. “And I’d like to… I don’t know how to phrase this, date? Officially? Be a couple?”

Marrow stared at him, jaw dropping open. Clover would have worried more if not for the fact that Marrow’s tail sounded like it was trying to destroy his chair. So, Clover waited, his fingers tightening against Marrow’s, for Marrow’s response.

“Yes,” breathed Marrow. Then, much louder, “Yes! Yes. I—gods, yes. Clover I would love to. I’ve wanted to—” He stopped, face darkening. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” Clover let out a quiet chuckle. “Can I hear the end of that sentence?” He raised both eyebrows.

“Um…” Marrow let out a quiet huff. “You’re gonna laugh.”

“I promise I won’t,” said Clover.

Marrow swallowed. “Ever since that first movie night, when you said, ‘it’s a date’ when I left, I’ve wanted you to ask me out for real.” Marrow offered him a shy smile. “I… I didn’t know if it was appropriate, but with all the movie nights, and when we eat out together, and you never were weird, and you always _looked_ at me like…” He trailed off.

“Like what?” asked Clover, his voice breathy.

Marrow met his gaze and Clover lost his breath at how tender and open he looked, at how deep Clover could look into his soul, at how many emotions were in those blue, blue eyes.

“Like I was worth looking at,” whispered Marrow.

Clover froze, stunned, his mouth falling open and his hand going limp in Marrow’s. After a moment, he shoved the chair back, got to his feet, and circled the table, stopping in front of Marrow. Marrow stared up at him, brow furrowed, and Clover tugged Marrow to his feet with a deft yank on his fingers.

He pulled Marrow into a hug as he rose, wrapping his arms tightly around Marrow’s middle and burrowing his face in Marrow’s hair.

“You’re always worth looking at,” whispered Clover, before pressing a kiss to his hair. “You’re everything to me. More than I ever thought I could feel.”

Marrow hugged him back, his face in Clover’s shoulder. “Really?”

“Really,” said Clover. He pulled back and put his hands on either side of Marrow’s face, lining them up so he could rest their foreheads together. “I didn’t know what romance was, before you, Marrow. I didn’t know there was a piece of me missing, until I saw you had it.”

Marrow sniffled, tears gathering in his eyes. “That’s _gay,_ ” he croaked.

“So am I,” replied Clover, equally croaky. They both laughed a little. “So… dating? Us? Together?”

Marrow grinned. “Yeah,” he said. “Together. Boyfriends.”

“Boyfriends,” echoed Clover, rolling the world around on his tongue. “I like it.” He tilted his head. “You wanna finish dinner?”

“Yeah,” said Marrow. “Hate for such a nice meal to go to waste.”

They ate, smiling and blushing at one another. Marrow complimented his pasta making skills and sauce making skills, and Clover complimented him on his most recent mission work. Marrow was getting better at stealth work, though he still wasn’t great, and his teamwork skills were fantastic. The team was great, and Clover was proud of all of them.

When they finished dinner, Clover and Marrow moved to the couch to watch movies. They curled up together, snuggling under a blanket. Clover had found a Menagerie made movie of a human who came to Menagerie as a refugee and fell in love with the Chieftain’s handsome son. The Chieftain didn’t approve of the relationship and tried to keep them apart, only for the human to help protect Menagerie when the humans came to attack – help, not save, he only helped – and for the Chieftain to change his mind and tell the human that he was allowed to be with his son.

It was a great movie and Clover spent as much time watching Marrow as he did watching the movie. At the end, Marrow was in tears and sniffling, smiling broadly, and Clover was holding him tightly, grinning as well.

“That was great,” said Marrow. “You’re so good at finding movies.”

“I try,” said Clover. “I have some great sources.”

Marrow looked up at him, cheeks flushed. “Do you hunt down faunus movies for me?”

“Yeah,” said Clover. “I figure they’re probably the best ones. You know, less risk of racism and all that.”

Marrow snuggled deeper into him. “I like it.”

“Good.”

They looked at one another, and Clover let his gaze drop to Marrow’s mouth before it darted back up to Marrow’s eyes. Marrow licked his lips, pressed a hand to Clover’s chest, and leaned forward, just a little. Clover leaned into Marrow, tilting and ducking his head until his breath brushed passed Marrow’s nose.

“Can we—” started Marrow.

“Yeah,” breathed Clover. He leaned in the last inch and a half and met Marrow’s mouth in a gentle kiss. And _oh_. He got it now. The way authors wrote kisses in romance novels. The way he mimicked them. He understood the pull in his chest and the spinning of his thoughts. The way they always leaned in further and chased after when they pulled back.

He understood it all.

When they pulled back, foreheads together, Clover grinned at Marrow, and Marrow smiled shyly at him.

“Wow,” breathed Marrow.

“Wow,” echoed Clover. They laughed together, quiet chuckles. “Again?”

“Yeah,” said Marrow, nodding. “Again.”

And they leaned in and kissed again, and again, until the living room blurred around the and all they knew was each other’s mouths and hands.

* * *

Sensitivity reading brought up some issues, but only small ones. Clover was proud of himself for that. He’d expected a lot more issues, but mostly he’d just messed up language and culture stuff, here and there. His agent told him that culture stuff was to be expected, since Menagerie kept their culture close to their chest, and faunus outside of Menagerie held it even closer.

He had edits to do, but with General Ironwood already in Vale, he had a lot more to do in Atlas and in Mantle. Clover spent a lot of time giving out orders and organizing check-ins. There were a ton of Grimm out in the old mines of Solitas and he worked hard to ensure that the soldiers he sent out were the best for the job.

When the first casualty reports came in, Clover crumbled in General Ironwood’s office, curled in his chair and hunched over his desk. He stared at the names and burned them into his skull. Into his eyelids. Into his _soul._

How could this happen?

What had he done wrong?

Marrow found him there, hours after the report came in. Clover only noticed him when Marrow touched his shoulders and rubbed them, slow and gentle.

“You’ll be okay,” whispered Marrow in his ear. “This isn’t your fault.”

“I sent them out there,” said Clover, his voice hoarse and broken. “I chose them for the fight. If I hadn’t, they’d be at home with their families. They’d still be _alive._ ” His voice cracked. He swallowed, but it didn’t help. His mouth, his tongue, his lips were all so dry that they were cracking.

Like he was trapped on the frozen, barren tundra, the winds eating him alive while he walked into nothingness.

“You couldn’t have known,” said Marrow.

“I’m supposed to be lucky.” Clover squeezed his eyes shut, but the imagined deaths of the soldiers loomed in front of him. He let out a choked noise and pressed a hand to his mouth to stifle it. Tears slipped down his cheeks.

There were letters to send to families who’d never see those people again. There were funds to move. People to help. Grimm to take down.

Clover just wanted to curl into a ball in the corner and never move again.

How did General Ironwood handle this, every day? How did he not go insane? How did he not want to claw himself out of his own skin, or put a gun in his mouth and swallow a Dustpowder bullet or five?

Maybe he did.

“Hey, hey.” Marrow’s voice. “You’ll be okay. You picked the best people for the job. You did everything right, Clover.”

Clover pulled his hand from his mouth. “Then why did I lose?”

Marrow shifted and sat on the desk in front of Clover, just off to one side. He reached out and lifted Clover’s chin so that Clover had to look at him through his tear-filled eyes. Even blurry, Marrow was beautiful.

“Because life isn’t always fair. Sometimes you lose even if you do everything right. It sucks. It’s awful. And there’s nothing you can do to change that. All you can do is keep trying, put yourself back together, and mourn for as long as you need,” said Marrow.

Clover sniffled and wiped at his eyes. Everything was still a little blurry, but it felt less out of control, now.

“You think that works?” asked Clover.

“I do,” said Marrow. He shrugged. “I know it does, actually. It’s how I used to handle stuff like this, down in Mantle.”

Clover winced. How much of Marrow’s past didn’t he know? How much had his boyfriend been through, before he’d ended up at Atlas Academy? Gods, they needed to fix Mantle. They needed to help the people down there. That was why Clover was trying to clear out Grimm nests.

That was why he’d sent people, good, honest people, to their deaths.

“What do I do now?” asked Clover, his voice wet and echoing.

“Write the letters, send them out,” said Marrow. “Everything else can wait until tomorrow. But those people deserve to know. Then, we’re going home, and we’re going to curl up under your blankets and lay there for a while. Maybe you’ll cry, maybe you’ll sleep, but you need the break.”

Clover nodded. “Okay,” he whispered. He stared at Marrow, feeling every ounce of his vulnerability as he trembled. “Stay with me?”

Marrow soothed his fingers through Clover’s hair. “Always.”

* * *

It got better, at first. Clover finished his edits and sent them off for a second round of sensitivity reading; his relationship with Marrow was progressing well; and while Atlas wasn’t doing _amazing_ at the Vytal Festival, they were doing well. Clover found himself rooting for a first-year team from Beacon called RWBY. Their tank, a girl named Yang, was a firecracker. She angered easily and her semblance, which seemed like some sort of damage redirect, kicked off whenever she did.

Still, it was going well, and the fight against Flynt Coal and Neon Katt of Team FNKI was an even match, right up until the Schnee heiress went down and Yang kicked off. Clover was disappointed that FNKI lost, but it made sense. Their teammates, Kobalt and Ivory, had returned home after the 4v4 for Ivory’s top surgery. Clover had met them at the docks and chatted with Ivory all the way up to the dorms.

He helped out a lot with the first years. He wanted to make sure the kid was okay before he had a major surgery.

And also make sure that Kobalt could stay in the room as long as he wanted, post-surgery, visiting hours be damned. They were teammates, partners, they deserved to be together.

The nurses understood.

Clover and the Ace-Ops went down to Mantle to help with cleaning up the city and doing repairs on the walls. There was a hidden Grimm nest in the basement of a house. Pools of black ick that had Clover feeling lethargic and exhausted whenever he got to close to them.

They ended up having to torch the house and relocate the family within. Though, Clover made sure they emptied the house, first.

Then, everything got much, much worse.

It started with the 1v1 fight involving Yang. Clover and Marrow watched in Clover’s apartment, shocked, as she attacked the guy after he was already down. Atlesian Knights arrested her and Clover couldn’t help the stunned feeling in his chest.

Then the alarms in Mantle started going off.

It was a nasty Grimm attack, breaking through a reinforced wall on the south side. Atlesian Knights fell left and right, the Ace Ops fought as best they could, but they couldn’t stop all the casualties. A dozen members of the army.

Far more civilians.

Clover collapsed into his apartment, afterward, Marrow wrapping his arms around him. They laid in bed for a while, Clover clinging to Marrow, both of them shaking and shivering from the horrors of what they’d seen. Mantle was safe, the wall was repaired again, but the funerals.

Oh, there were so many funerals to attend.

And then.

_And then._

It got so, so much worse.

Penny Polendina, adorable and sweet, introduced once to Clover as Dr. Polendina’s daughter, was killed on television. She was a robot. She was a girl.

She was dead.

The words of that woman rang through screens all over Atlas and Mantle. Exhaustion meant there was little despair, but Clover and Marrow were on the streets again, fighting their own horror as they saved Mantle again.

The knowledge, later, that Beacon had fallen, the CCTs were down, and the city of Vale was gone.

It was the longest night of Clover’s life.

General Ironwood arrived late the next day, injured, stumbling, and missing all of his Knights and a good number of his soldiers. Clover wanted to ask him so many questions, but he didn’t get the chance.

The Council was calling, and General Ironwood had to answer. The world thought the General had done this, that he had attacked Vale and Beacon, that he had taken down the CCTs. The last thing any television displayed was the Knights turning on the students and the few hunters the city had.

But it couldn’t have been General Ironwood. He would _never_ do something like this. He was a good man and he’d taken his army to protect Vale. He’d been so concerned, so convinced, that something would happen that he’d taken most of his army, he’d gone himself. He wouldn’t attack the city.

Why didn’t anyone else see that?

Clover waited, pacing the solarium that connected General Ironwood’s myriad of offices, Marrow leaning against a column not far from him, while General Ironwood spoke to the Council.

It took hours. Clover gave up on pacing and ended up leaned on the column next to Marrow, stroking Marrow’s hair with one hand and worrying at the nails of his other with his teeth. Shouts rose and fell behind the door, like waves on an ocean on a stormy night. General Ironwood’s voice was thunder, booming through the space. Unintelligible, but defensive. Fierce.

He was fighting for his right to lead, for his right to help, and Clover prayed to every god he’d ever studied in mythology class that the general would succeed.

By the time the door opened and the council members filtered out, one after the other, General Ironwood at the back, Clover had torn the nails of both hands ragged, and his aura flickered across his fingers as it healed his bleeding cuticles.

Clover waited until the three other council members had disappeared into the elevator, door closing behind them, before he spoke.

“General Ironwood,” said Clover, pushing off the column. “How…” He hesitated, words catching in his throat.

Marrow rested a hand on Clover’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. “How did it go?”

General Ironwood turned to face them and rubbed a hand over his face. He wore two gloves, now, a shift from the singular glove he’d worn as long as Clover had known him. More coverage. More secrecy. Clover thought it made sense, given all that had happened.

If you built up walls high enough, people couldn’t hurt you, right? But that meant no one could help you, either. Something Clover worried General Ironwood had forgotten.

“I’m still on the council,” said General Ironwood, his voice hoarse. He’d been talking, yelling, for hours. Of course it was hoarse. Was there water nearby? Maybe in his office? But his office was locked and Clover didn’t want to bother him. “I’ve been found innocent of all charges, but,” a sigh, “I am now in charge of fixing Atlas’ broken reputation and soothing the fears brought up across the kingdom from this.”

Clover swallowed. _Oh._ That didn’t sound good. He’d wondered what would happen about all that. But it made sense that General Ironwood would be the one that had to deal with it. Even if he was found innocent, which he had been, who else would do it?

“I’ll need the help of the Ace Operatives, if that’s all right,” said General Ironwood. Not an order, but a quiet, defeated request. Clover didn’t salute. Instead, he pushed away from Marrow, gently, and crossed the space, resting a hand on General Ironwood’s left arm after only a moment of hesitation.

“We’re here for you, sir,” said Clover, smiling at him. “Whatever you need, whatever happens, we’re all here for you. We won’t let you down.”

General Ironwood returned his smile, though it was smaller and infinitely more exhausted than Clover’s own. “Thank you, Clover. I appreciate that.”

“Yeah,” said Marrow, stepping up next to Clover. “We’re the best, right?” He flashed a grin at Clover, then at General Ironwood. “We’ll get everything sorted. No problem!”

* * *

Clover wondered, as the days turned to weeks, what had transpired with General Ironwood and Qrow Branwen at Vale. He’d seen Qrow on the news, having apparently picked a fight with Winter. Not that Clover got to ask her about it, seeing as Winter was sent to Mistral immediately after she left Vale. Still, the moment she returned, he’d be trying to pick her brain over all that. Assuming she’d talk to him, anyway. And if she wouldn’t, well, she could never turn down a drinking contest.

Instead of waiting for Winter, though, Clover decided to go for broke. What was the worst that could happen if he asked? Probably nothing awful. He did have his semblance, after all.

“General Ironwood?” Clover kept his voice low and level as he stepped into the general’s office one evening. The stars shone outside the windows, only a handful, all pale, but a mark of the hour. It was winter, frozen and awful in ways Clover, despite being an Atlesian native, had never been fond of.

General Ironwood looked up from what he was doing and furrowed his brow at Clover. His hand paused where he’d been working with a stylus on his Scroll.

“Clover. What can I do for you?” he asked, raising both eyebrows.

“Well, sir,” said Clover, shutting the office door behind him. “I wanted to ask about something in Vale.”

“All right,” said General Ironwood, furrowing his brow.

“Or rather, someone,” said Clover. He fidgeted with his scarf, frowning a bit. It really didn’t suit him anymore. But he wanted to have a splash of red in his clothes that wasn’t part of the uniform. Maybe something for his arms, in the future. “Qrow Branwen.”

A shadow passed over General Ironwood’s face. Something forlorn and angst-riddled that left Clover’s heart clenching and his breath catching in his throat. _Oh._ He didn’t know precisely what that look meant, but it was obviously something bad.

Clover crossed the space and sat, slowly, in the chair on the other side of the desk. “Sir, with respect,” said Clover, his voice gentle, “you can’t bottle up your emotions. Whatever is going on…” Clover hesitated and pressed his lips together. “I know I’m just a Specialist, an employee, not your friend. But I’d like to be. I worry about you.” He let his gaze flit from where it was glued to the desk up to the general’s face. The general’s expression went soft, lips parting and brow lifting.

“Oh,” said General Ironwood, his voice quiet. “I…” He sighed and placed a hand over the lower half of his face. A long silence stretched out between them, long enough that Clover fidgeted, worrying he’d said something terrible.

He was about to leave when General Ironwood finally spoke.

“You won’t tell anyone?” Spoken as a question, quiet, behind his hand. Clover heard every ounce of fear behind it.

“I won’t,” said Clover. “I swear it, General.”

General Ironwood was silent for a few minutes. Clover waited. He didn’t know how hard this was for the general, not really, but he could make an educated guess. Whatever had stopped him from telling Qrow in the first place was probably responsible for his hesitation in accepting or even acknowledging his feelings. So, Clover could be patient. If he needed to wait here all night, he would. He didn’t _want_ to, especially because he wanted to spend the night with Marrow. He’d received a rather… _suggestive_ photo, not long before he’d come into the office. One involving Marrow in one of Clover’s spare uniforms with everything undone and open, his hair around his face. He’d also been biting his lower lip.

God, Clover loved those pictures. He saved every single one of them in a secret, encrypted folder on his phone. They were great for the long nights away from Marrow.

Finally, General Ironwood spoke. “I suppose if you’ve brought him up, you’ve made at least some connections on your own.”

Clover bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying something he’d regret. General Ironwood didn’t need to know just how much he’d pieced together on his own, even if it wasn’t a ton. Just enough to understand the gist of it all.

“Some of it, sir,” agreed Clover, keeping his voice carefully neutral. He offered the other man a quiet smile. “But mostly speculation.”

“And what, pray tell, is that speculation?” asked General Ironwood. He raised both eyebrows at Clover, resting his hands, clasped together, in front of his face, elbows on the desk.

Clover swallowed. How to phrase this?

“I… _speculate_ that you care about Qrow a great deal,” said Clover, his words hesitant. “And I’ve often wondered if that care and affection isn’t romantic in nature.”

He let the words hang in the air, intent on allowing General Ironwood to reply whenever he wanted. Clover couldn’t help but think of his books, as he waited in that tense, pregnant silence. Not because he wanted to write another one, but because he’d never written a scene like this, before. None of his books had particularly strong friendships, beyond the bond between the two leads. Therefore, there was no reason for confrontations and heart-wrenching conversations to happen except between the leads.

Perhaps that was something he’d change, if he wrote another book.

…And Gods, hadn’t he _just_ said he wasn’t going to make this about his writing? Damn it.

“You’re right,” said General Ironwood, bringing Clover back to the present situation. The general gave a deep, frustrated sigh. He bowed his head and lifted one hand to comb his fingers back through his greying hair. “Damn it, I want to deny it, but I can’t. I pride myself on my honesty, where I can be honest.” He lifted his gaze back to Clover. “Is it obvious?”

“Not in the least, sir,” replied Clover. Because it wasn’t. He’d never seen anyone else take notice of General Ironwood’s feelings for Qrow. Granted, he didn’t know anyone else who had the sort of inside scoop he had. He’d witnessed things he never should have. That changed things. It also gave Clover a level of knowledge to this whole situation that he wasn’t entirely comfortable with. It felt… strange, to be aware of things that the general didn’t know he was aware of.

It felt a lot like broken promises, broken trust, even if it wasn’t entirely his fault. _Entirely_ , that was. Mostly, though, it was.

“Good,” murmured General Ironwood. He frowned down at his desk. “I…” He sighed again, just as frustrated as before. “It started a few years ago, back when the Ace Ops were newer. I took on a clearing mission during school holidays, out in Solitas.” A flicker of a smile crossed his expression and Clover couldn’t help but mimic it. “We met up, unexpectedly, and ended up fighting together.” General Ironwood traced a gloved hand across the desk. “It was the first time I was _aware_ that my feelings for Qrow weren’t… strictly platonic.”

Clover clasped his hands in his lap and leaned forward, nodding. “It scared you.”

General Ironwood gave him a strange look – a furrowed brow, a frown, a curiosity in his eyes that spoke volumes.

“Marrow,” said Clover, dropping his gaze to his hands as he fidgeted with them. “I uh… I dealt with something similar, with him. And I was terrified to tell him.” He felt himself smile and brought his gaze back up to the general, who watched him with a tiny smile. “It went well, sir.” His voice was soft and hoarse. He cleared his throat to try and get rid of it. “Very well.”

“Congratulations,” murmured General Ironwood. “I’m happy for you.”

Clover smiled. “Thank you, sir. We’re very happy together.” He cleared his throat a second time, this time to change the subject. “But what I mean by all this is that I understand being scared, and I understand not wanting to change things.”

“But you think I should,” finished General Ironwood.

Clover winced. “Yes, yes I do.” What was the worst that could happen, anyway? Qrow seemed like he liked General Ironwood back, as far as Clover could tell. Especially with the way he looked at General Ironwood, when he’d been in Atlas. “You should tell him.”

“I can’t,” said General Ironwood, bowing his head.

Clover frowned. “But sir, it could be worth—”

“No, Clover, it’s not that I don’t want to,” said General Ironwood. He swallowed, visibly, and lifted his head. Clover sucked in a breath at the forlorn expression he wore. “I kissed him, before we parted ways in Vale.”

Clover stared, mouth falling open. “Oh?”

“Yes, really,” said General Ironwood. He let out a broken laugh. “It doesn’t matter. I didn’t stick around to see what his reaction was.”

“He didn’t find you, after?” asked Clover, tilting his head.

General Ironwood shrunk into himself. “He vanished, after that. No one saw him after he went after his niece. As far as we know…” General Ironwood trailed off and closed his eyes. He placed a hand over his mouth. “He’s either somewhere out in Remnant, ignoring me, or else he’s dead. Either way, it doesn’t matter, anymore. Atlas is more important.”

“Sir—”

“No, Clover,” said General Ironwood. “This was pointless. As far as I know, he’s dead. There’s no point dwelling.” Silence, a shudder wracking through General Ironwood’s impressive frame. Then, “Please, just go.”

Clover got to his feet. “Yes, sir.” He got to the door before he stopped, turned, and looked back at General Ironwood. The man seemed so small in his office, shrunk down behind his desk as he was, both hands on his bowed head. “If you need anything sir, anything at all, please, don’t hesitate to find me.” Clover swallowed. “Be safe.”

With that, he left, his heart heavy and his mind silent, unable to process the tragedy of a love story cut short.

* * *

There wasn’t time to focus on anything else, after that. He had another round of edits from his editor, the sensitivity readers satisfied, and there were a thousand missions to handle. Galas, balls, meetings, and so much more.

And then, _and then_ , Clover and his team had their blinders removed. General Ironwood sat them down in his office and told them _everything._ The Grimm, the truth of the war, the four maidens, and _Salem._ The most terrifying truth of all.

Afterward, Clover was called back by General Ironwood, who informed him that his team would have a few days off to process the information. He told Clover that they were all free to contact him if they had any questions and he’d do his best to answer them. Clover nodded and ducked out of the office, where he came face to face with a very distraught looking Marrow.

Marrow stumbled into Clover’s arms and hugged him around his waist. Clover slipped his arms around Marrow’s shoulders and rested his cheek against Marrow’s. Marrow shuddered against him.

“It’s okay,” Clover murmured, stroking Marrow’s back. It didn’t _feel_ okay, but he didn’t know what else to say. There was nothing they could do about knowing the truth, now, and Clover wasn’t sure if he felt better or worse, knowing it. He tried to focus on the positive, like how now that he knew the truth, he could work toward destroying Salem and protecting Remnant in bigger and better ways.

“Is it?” asked Marrow into his shoulder. “It doesn’t _feel_ okay.” He sniffed and Clover turned his head to press his lips into Marrow’s hair, above his ear.

“It will be,” said Clover, curling his fingers as he stroked Marrow’s back. “We’ll figure it out, we’ll listen to General Ironwood, and we’ll take down everything that stands between us and a nice, safe retirement.”

“Yeah?” asked Marrow.

Clover nodded. “Yeah.”

Silence for a minute. Then, “Take me home?” asked Marrow.

Clover hesitated, unsure what Marrow meant by that and unsure how he felt, knowing that he was unsure about what Marrow meant.

“Your place, I mean,” mumbled Marrow. His fingers curled into Clover’s shirt, near his hips. “I just wanna forget all this for a while.”

_Oh._ Well, Clover could do that.

“Sure thing, babe, let’s go,” said Clover. Together, they left the office, the weight of the truth, the future, and what they would do next, hanging over them.

* * *

General Ironwood went to a gala and Clover talked to his agent. General Ironwood worked on Atlesian Knights and Clover cleared Mantle of Grimm. General Ironwood stared, longingly, at a picture of Qrow on his Scroll, and Clover pretended not to notice while he deleted the alert that Weiss Schnee had gone missing. He’d seen the heiress sneaking into a ship, early this morning when he’d been patrolling because he couldn’t sleep.

She was on her way to Mistral, where she’d probably do more than she could locked away in the depths of the Schnee Manor. Gods, Clover _hated_ Jacques Schnee. He couldn’t wait for the day they had enough evidence of any sort to lock the sick son of a bitch up in prison for the rest of his miserable, slimy existence.

Currently, he and Marrow sat on the balcony of Clover’s apartment, drinking coffee and chatting with one another. Clover had gotten the email this morning that his book had a release date – six months from now – and he couldn’t be more excited.

Already, his brain was trying to spin out another book, but he wasn’t holding out hope. He had no inspiration, no ideas, and no want to write, at the moment. There was too much going on, too much to do, too many people to save. And he couldn’t shake the guilt he felt about monetizing General Ironwood and Qrow’s love story.

Too bad it had taken him until he found out that Qrow might be _dead_ for his conscience to kick in. Damn it.

Still, the money was nice.

“Can I ask you something?” asked Marrow, his legs thrown over Clover’s.

Clover hummed around a mouthful of coffee and swallowed. “Sure,” he said. “What’s up, babe?”

Marow’s tail wagged against the seat. “What do you _do_ in your spare time? I know you do something, but I can’t figure out what it is.”

Clover felt his cheeks heat. If they hadn’t been dating, if they hadn’t been great friends, if Clover didn’t care about Marrow so damn much, he might have lied, like he had before. But he didn’t want to lie to Marrow. The question was whether or not Marrow would believe him, keep it a secret, and not hate him over it.

Well, that was three questions, but his point stood.

“Uh,” said Clover, rubbing the back of his neck as his face burned. “I’m not sure you’re gonna like it.”

Marrow snorted. “What? Are you secretly a porn star or something?” He looked thoughtful, his face darkening a few shades. “Although, that would explain why you’re so good at some things,” he whispered to himself, still audible to Clover.

Clover bit the inside of his cheek. That was good for the old ego, but not on topic. Although, he needed to ask about that, later, because he _so_ wanted to get Marrow’s praises during the act.

“No, it’s not like that,” said Clover. “It’s just…” He trailed off, frowning. After a moment, he sighed, frowned, and pushed himself up, knocking Marrow’s legs to the floor. “Hang on a second. I’ll be right back.”

He headed back into his apartment and moved to his bookcase, where he slid away a few books he had on the top shelf and pulled out the two books he’d hidden behind them. Tucking them under his arm, he moved back to the balcony and sat down on the chair, holding them out to Marrow.

“Asher King,” Marrow said, reading the author name. He furrowed his brow and looked at Clover.

“It’s me,” said Clover. “Pen name.”

Marrow blinked. He turned the books over in his hands, eyes wide, and then set them down in his lap. “You write romance novels?”

“Military romance, yeah,” said Clover. “Gay, military romance. I actually have a third coming out in six months.” He rubbed the back of his neck again. His face was so hot that he couldn’t feel anything but the heat and the thrumming of his heart in his ears.

“Wow,” said Marrow. There was no inflection, other than surprise, and Clover tensed, waiting. What did Marrow think of this? What was he going to say? Would this destroy their relationship? Would he figure out who they were about? Would he think Clover was gross?

There were so many questions that Clover wanted answers to, he didn’t know where to start in asking Marrow. His words jumbled up together in his throat, twisting into knots until they formed a massive lump that Clover couldn’t speak past. He swallowed, but it didn’t help. Anxiety and nausea twisted together in his guts, warning him of how stupid he was being.

“I can’t believe you’ve published books,” said Marrow. Clover stared at him and Marrow grinned at him, his eyes light and his tail wagging. “That’s _so cool._ ”

“Really?” asked Clover, feeling the weight lift off his chest. “I… thanks.”

“Yeah!” Marrow shifted forward, flipping one of the books over to read the blurb on the back. “I can’t imagine where you find the ideas, or the time. I mean—” He stopped short, furrowing his brow as he read on. “Huh.”

Clover tensed. “What?”

“Nothing it’s just.” Marrow lifted one hand and scratched the top of his head. “Maybe I’m crazy but, this almost sounds kinda like what you were describing when you told me that you thought General Ironwood and that guy, Qrow Branwen, had a thing.”

Clover felt himself pale. _Oh._ He’d forgotten about that. That had been a long time ago, back when he and Marrow had first started hanging out. He’d been dying to tell someone about what he’d seen, in vague terms at least, and while he hadn’t told Marrow everything, he’d given the other man enough details to capture his attention. They’d gossiped for hours and guessed at what General Ironwood would do to confess, or how Qrow might confess.

Something else that left a bitter taste in Clover’s mouth, with everything that he knew, now.

“Oh, uh,” said Clover, trying to buy time. He swallowed. “Um. Well.” _Shit._ What the hell was he supposed to say to that? Deny it? Agree with it? It was one thing to write smutty romance novels. Basing them on his boss and his own fantasies about what said boss should do was something else entirely. “Um.”

Marrow gave Clover an amused look, his eyes twinkling and his mouth quirking up on one side. “Man, you’re kind of a dweeb, you know that?”

What?

“What?” Clover blinked.

Marrow snickered. “Seriously. You basically wrote AU _fanfiction_ of our boss and his friend he has a crush on. And, somehow, you managed to get published for it. Man, if I had your luck, I’d buy lottery tickets.”

“I’m not allowed,” said Clover, before he could stop himself. “Because my semblance is recorded in the Atlas databases, if I won the lottery, or went to a casino, I could be charged or chucked in jail for a while.”

Marrow stared. “Shit that’s kind of wild.”

“Yeah,” agreed Clover, though he completely understood _why_ those rules were in place. Otherwise, he might have been a billionaire already. “Also, what the hell is fanfiction? And A-U?”

“You’re kidding, right?” asked Marrow, furrowing his brow. “You’re a queer dude who writes romance books and you don’t know what fanfiction is?” Clover shook his head. “Huh.” Marrow pursed his lower lip. “That’s kinda weird.”

Clover shrugged. He figured it was probably an online thing, or something of the sort. He hadn’t spent a lot of time online as a teenager that didn’t involve researching for school or watching way, _way_ too much porn. Like a lot of porn. Seriously too much porn.

He’d developed carpal tunnel from watching porn. That had been a shitty surgery. At least he hadn’t had to explain it. The doctors had given him some terrible looks, though. They’d absolutely known what he’d done to put himself in that situation. Especially because it was only the one wrist.

“It’s… writing stories about characters in other media,” said Marrow, rubbing the back of his neck. “Like, if you like two characters on a show and you want them to be together, you’d write a story about them getting together. AU stands for Alternate Universe, so like, if a movie is a spy movie, you might write a world where they own a coffee shop, or a bookstore, or are dragon riders.” His tail wagged a little as he shifted in his seat.

“Huh,” said Clover. He leaned back in his seat and nodded, thinking about it. “Yeah, I guess that’s what I did with them.” Then, realizing what he’d admitted to, he tried to backtrack. “I mean—I didn’t—Um.”

Marrow grinned. “Got you,” he said, voice teasing and tail wagging harder. He got up and swayed over to Clover, standing between his legs with a smug look on his face. Smug didn’t suit Marrow, it looked coy, teasing, instead. His smile was crooked, his eyes twinkling, his nose wiggling, his tail wagged hard behind him.

“Yeah,” agreed Clover, staring up at Marrow. He let his gaze sweep up and down his boyfriend’s body, unable to stop the quiet hunger that rumbled, low, in his stomach. Oh, the things he wanted to do to Marrow. But first, they needed dinner. After that, well, they had the whole evening ahead of them.

And it seemed Marrow was on the same wavelength, because he dropped himself into Clover’s lap, his legs on the outside of Clover’s, hooking behind the chair to hold him in place. Marrow draped his arms across Clover’s shoulders, hands tangling in Clover’s hair, and leaned forward, resting his forehead against Clover’s, a little grin on his face.

“You planning something, Marrow?” asked Clover. He lifted his hands and rested them on Marrow’s hips, splaying his fingers to press them beneath his shirt. The smooth skin warmed Clover’s cool fingers and Marrow gave a shiver.

“That depends,” said Marrow, his tail wagging hard enough to sway his hips back and forth, creating warmth and friction that left Clover’s face flushed and his brain gooey. Marrow leaned forward and his teeth brushed Clover’s ear. “What are you gonna do to me if I am?”

Clover swallowed. In one smooth motion, he slid his hands to grasp Marrow’ thighs, scooped him up, and walked into the apartment. Marrow’s teeth found Clover’s neck as Clover hurried to the bedroom and Clover nearly lost his grip.

Marrow laughed and Clover chuckled in return.

They could have a late dinner. This was worth the wait.

* * *

Clover was patrolling Mantle with the rest of the Ace Ops when they got the call from General Ironwood. He’d requested their immediate presence. However, when Clover checked the coordinates he’d been sent, he realized it wasn’t a cave or a plateau in Solitas, or a location in Atlas. It was a place in Mantle.

It was Dr. Polendina’s Mantle clinic.

That, in itself, was strange, but not terribly. General Ironwood had prosthetics – the extent of which Clover did not know, but could hazard a guess to, based on rumours, speculation, his own observations, and a few jibes from Qrow, when he thought no one was listening – and Dr. Polendina was the best there was. Of course the doctor would attend to General Ironwood’s needs.

But why would he call them there? Was something wrong?

The Ace Ops made their way to the clinic and, upon entering, Clover realized why they’d been called there.

Standing before them was a girl who had died, a year prior.

General Ironwood smiled and gestured at the ghost. “Clover, Specialists, I’d like to formally introduce you to Penny Polendina, newly rebuilt and ready to protect Mantle.”

Penny saluted them. “It’s an honour to meet you all.”

No one spoke for a long minute, all of them staring at Penny in various states of shock. Eventually, it was Harriet who broke the silence.

“You died,” she said. Well, at least she wasn’t mincing words. “We all saw it. Right?” She looked around at them all, as if anyone would protect what she said. Clover was aware that he was nodding, but he couldn’t tear his gaze from Penny. She looked different. A little older, with longer hair, brighter eyes, and a little more robotic. Her knee joints were visible, and her boots seemed to be attached to her.

No point in hiding that she was an android if everyone already knew, he supposed.

“I suppose I did,” said Penny, tilting her head to one side. She tapped her chin with one finger and beamed. “In a matter of speaking, anyway. But I’m all better now.”

“This is amazing,” said Marrow. He pushed forward and held out his hand. “Hi, I’m Marrow. I don’t think we were ever introduced before.”

Penny giggled and took his hand. “We were not. I’d remember someone as interesting as you. It’s nice to meet you.” Marrow’s tail wagged behind him.

Clover stepped forward, taking the reigns when he realized the rest of his team was too stunned to say or do anything.

“It’s good to meet you, properly, Penny. I’m glad to have you back. We always need more people helping out in Mantle,” he said. He held out his hand and Penny shook it. Her grip was strong, squeezing at his joints, but he didn’t show it. Marrow had handled it fine.

“I’m so glad,” said Penny. “I don’t want to take over anyone’s job. I just want to help.”

“Well, you’re going to do great,” said Clover. “If you need any help with the rules, or what to do, you’re always free to ask one of us. We’re happy to help.”

“Thank you,” said Penny. “I’m really looking forward to working with you.”

Clover slung an arm around Marrow’s shoulders and grinned at him. He had no idea how Penny was alive, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. She had been important to General Ironwood, like a child he’d never gotten to have, and the General seemed lighter, standing in the same room as her.

That was all that mattered, in Clover’s book.

* * *

The fourth book involved adoption. It was the only note Clover had written down, so far, but he wrote it down all the same. General Ironwood’s face, the serene expression as he watched Penny interact with them all, refused to leave Clover’s mind. It haunted him in all the best ways, whenever he had a few moments to himself. Once he wrote down that detail, the memory let him be, and he, instead, found himself thinking about the details of his book.

But life didn’t rest just because he wanted it to. He found himself fighting Grimm, scoping locations for General Ironwood’s latest plan, and listening to the people of Mantle in his adventures in helping with their issues.

General Ironwood wanted to restore communications across Remnant, and with the Amity Coliseum back in Atlas, he had his starting point. The coliseum, turned into a satellite high in the sky, would create a way to unite the world in a way that could never be taken. It was the first step in taking down Salem, once and for all.

Letters were arriving from around the world. Troubles in Vacuo, involving rogue huntsmen. Troubles in Mistral, where the huntsmen had all disappeared. Troubles in Vale, but that was typical. Everything was wrong in Vale. Glynda Goodwitch’s letters, often marked with dried blood and jagged scrawl, often screamed of how much was wrong in Vale.

She didn’t want help, she said in all the letters Clover was permitted to read. She just wanted to yell about the bullshit of Remnant, and Vale, and Salem. But the Relic was safe, and hidden, and Vale was slowly being rebuilt, even as Glynda cursed it all to hell and back.

Clover did his best to keep up with it all, tidy up Mantle as best he could, all while his focus remained on three things.

First, his new book.

Second, the horrid love life of his General, and how to help him if Qrow was dead, and how to find Qrow if he wasn’t.

Third, the upcoming election for the open Council seat.

Technically, there were four people on the ballot, but even at the start of all this, Clover knew it would come down to two: Robyn Hill and Jacques Schnee. Robyn Hill was being lauded as the upstart from Mantle, the hero of her people, and Clover was inclined to agree. Hell, he couldn’t count the number of times he’d looked the other way for Robyn. She didn’t hurt people, she just redistributed goods that were redistributed to begin with. Frankly, there were times when he let the locations of those trucks slip into the wind, just so she could find them.

Fuckers like Schnee stole from the poor with every legal channel and loophole they could get their hands on. Robyn and her Happy Huntresses were just levelling the playing field, if you asked Clover. Plus, he’d known her back in Atlas Academy. They’d been classmates. Her, the leader of her own team, Clover, the leader of his.

Her team had survived, though. Joanne was one of her old teammates. The other two were air traffic controllers. There were days Clover couldn’t help the anger and jealousy that flared when he saw them together. He’d buried all three of his school teammates before he even graduated.

He tried not to think about it.

Needless to say, Clover wanted Robyn to win the election.

* * *

One night, while off duty, Clover surprised Marrow at his apartment in Mantle and the two went for a walk through the neighbourhood, heading to a faunus-friendly café that Marrow loved the cookies at.

Fingers intertwined and shoulders brushing, the two made their way through the streets of Mantle. There were holiday lights strung up on some of the buildings, twined in the balconies and around the streetlamps. It gave the city a soft glow, despite Atlas blocking the full moon from shining down upon it.

“This is nice,” said Marrow. He shivered, burying his nose in the collar of his jacket.

“Cold?” asked Clover.

Marrow nodded.

“Here,” said Clover. He paused, taking his hand from Marrow’s, and unwound the scarf from around his neck. With gentle fingers, he wrapped the bandana-scarf around Marrow’s neck, tucking it in neatly along the lines of his shirt. They were both still in uniform, because they were on call, and it brought a splash of colour to Marrow’s otherwise unmodified uniform.

“Oh,” said Marrow. His skin darkened a few shades. “You wear this as part of your uniform. I can’t take it.”

“I want you to,” said Clover, leaning in close. Marrow’s breath ghosted his face and Clover smiled at him, his own cheeks flushed from the cold. “I want your uniform to be custom. And I want to see me on you, wherever we go.”

Marrow gave him a shaky smile. “Okay,” he whispered.

“Okay?” echoed Clover, raising an eyebrow.

Marrow gave a laugh that was almost a giggle. He nodded, grinning. “Yeah, okay. I love it.”

Clover drifted his fingers up from the scarf and onto Marrow’s face. “So do I,” he replied, softly. He closed the distance between them, pressing a soft kiss to Marrow’s lips. Marrow reached up, tangling his fingers in Clover’s jacket to tug him closer.

“Oh,” whispered Clover, against Marrow’s lips. Marrow giggled. They traded soft kisses, pecking lips and noses and cheeks, hands tangling in one other’s jackets and hair. Marrow’s tail wagged, and with Marrow pressed flush to Clover he could feel the way Marrow swayed with his tail.

When they pulled back, foreheads together, Clover’s face burned from its flush and Marrow looked about the same.

“You’re beautiful,” whispered Clover, stroking the backs of his fingers down Marrow’s cheek. Marrow leaned a little into the gesture, a soft smile on his face. “I love you.”

Clover froze. He’d never said that before. He’d never _felt_ that way before. But it was true. And he hadn’t known it until he said it.

Marrow’s smile turned shy. “I love you too.”

“Cool,” said Clover.

“Cool,” agreed Marrow.

They stood there for a while, before making their way to the café, fingers entangled again and smiles soft and sweet on their faces.

* * *

Clover stood across from Robyn, Kingfisher at his hip, but untouched. The rest of the Happy Huntresses were off in other parts of Mantle. He’d seen them, earlier. The Ace Ops were scattered, likewise, for their sweep of the city. Illegal activity, the report had said. Rightful redistribution, Clover thought.

That left them alone.

“What are you doing out here, Clover?” asked Robyn.

Clover held up his hands in surrender. “We were told to sweep the city for missing shipments. We don’t want trouble, Robyn.” There was the issue that General Ironwood needed to start requisitioning supplies for the Amity Coliseum project. That would change supplies around Mantle and Atlas, which meant that Robyn would start digging into that.

Maybe Clover could sit them both down and see what Robyn needed to know in order to be sated.

“If you didn’t want trouble, you shouldn’t have come,” said Robyn. She kept her crossbow aimed at him. Clover eyed it, but didn’t react. Between his reflexes, his aura, and his luck, he’d either avoid it or take it without getting hurt too badly.

“Hey, I’m not planning on turning you in,” said Clover. He took a few steps to the right, to draw himself away from the mouth of the alley. Less chance of someone spotting them if the white of his uniform wasn’t visible.

Robyn scoffed. “What? Am I supposed to thank you?” She narrowed her eyes and raised the crossbow higher. Almost heart height. Ouch. So much for school spirit. “What do you want, Clover?”

“Nothing,” said Clover. He kept his voice low and even. He didn’t need Robyn firing at him. He didn’t need a reason to arrest her. It was harder to argue that sort of thing when he had holes in his outfit that could only be from her.

“I don’t believe you,” said Robyn.

Clover held out one hand to her. “Then prove it,” he said. He locked eyes with Robyn, keeping his body language and expression open. “You can, so why don’t you?”

Robyn’s eyes narrowed further, almost to slits. “How do I know your semblance won’t overwrite mine?”

“Why don’t you tell me?” replied Clover.

The words hung between them, heavy with meaning. They both knew, of course. Robyn had proven that no matter how much Clover wanted to lie to her, her semblance wouldn’t be tricked. That proof had been found at the edge of a graveyard on a rainy Sunday, with Clover’s tears following the tracks of the rain.

It was that day, more than anything else, that had destroyed what had been left of their friendship. As much as Clover tried to help Robyn, he couldn’t shake the pain in his chest when he thought of her for too long.

The sting of betrayal might fade, but the scars never did.

Robyn’s scowl didn’t fade, but she stepped forward, lowered her crossbow, and took his hand with her free one. Clover felt the ripple across his body as his aura reacted to the surge of another. A twinge in his jaw alerted him to his semblance trying to work overtime. He pushed it down, trying to soothe his mind and aura that everything was fine, even if he didn’t quite believe it.

Robyn was a little close for comfort.

“What are you doing here?” asked Robyn, again.

Clover said what he needed to. “We were sent to look at missing shipments. I travel alone.” The glow between them shifted to green.

Robyn’s scowl shifted into a dark frown. “You’re alone?”

“Yes,” said Clover. It stayed green. Robyn’s hand tightened against his, but she didn’t speak. He suspected she was trying to find the right sentence to say. The right question to ask. He knew the feeling. “I have no interest in bringing you in. All I want is to try and soothe tensions between Mantle and Atlas. I want to help.” It stayed green, but Robyn jerked away from him, as if stung. The same thing she’d done at the graveyard.

Clover swallowed around the lump in his throat. Sometimes the truth was too hard to bear.

“Mantle has lived in Atlas’ shadow too long,” said Robyn, staring at her hand. It was as though she didn’t trust her semblance, trust _him._ That stung, even if Clover knew he should have expected it. Still, there was also the twisting knife of his own frustration. The fact that _he_ should have been angry with her. That _he_ shouldn’t have to be the one trying to earn the other’s trust. Instead, he was left on the other side, the one Robyn should have been on. Trying to earn her trust, to convince her that Atlas wasn’t going to throw her in jail.

Sometimes, he almost wanted to, if only because that would be payback for all the betrayal she’d dealt him, over the years. But that wasn’t who he was. Robyn was good for Mantle, good for Atlas, good for the world at whole. She needed to be supported so she could stay strong and take a seat on the council.

Petty revenge wasn’t on the docket, nor was it what Clover wanted.

“You’re right,” said Clover. He tucked his thumbs into his belt loops, leaving him at a disadvantage if Robyn attacked. Calculated, and he suspected she knew that. “Mantle deserves better. We’re trying to make it right, but only the citizens truly know what’s going on, down here.” Citizens like Marrow, who struggled with public transport and argued, at length, about the security measures and their effectiveness (or lack thereof, as was oft the case).

Robyn narrowed her eyes at him. She backed up, two steps, then five, lifting her crossbow again. Clover sighed, fighting the urge to do much more than that.

“Is that really necessary?” he asked. “Your semblance confirmed what I’m saying.”

“My semblance can confirm your words, not your intentions, your motives,” said Robyn. She lifted the crossbow higher, until it was aimed at his chest. “So, what are they?”

“Mantle citizens are people,” said Clover, “and I’m a protector of them. Do you truly believe there to be more than that?”

Robyn shrugged with one shoulder. “There could be,” she said. “And I’m inclined to think there is.”

Clover sighed, again. What could he tell her that would satiate her? That would bring her down to his world instead of the sniper perch she so often placed herself upon in these situations?

“I know someone who lives down here,” said Clover, thinking quickly. “My—” He stopped, took a breath, and pushed on. He wouldn’t be deterred. Robyn wasn’t a bigot, not in the least. She’d understand interspecies romance. “My boyfriend, Marrow Amin, one of the Ace Operatives. He lives in Mantle. The things he sees, the things he has to put up with…” Clover shook his head. “Maybe that’s what pushed me over the edge, but I care about Mantle, Robyn, and _all_ of its citizens.”

Robyn’s crossbow lowered an inch. “Marrow’s the faunus.” It wasn’t a question.

Clover answered her, anyway. “Yes.”

“So that’s your angle? The personal behind the selflessness?” asked Robyn.

Clover winced. “I’d say _beyond_ , rather than behind, but yes.” He didn’t think Marrow was when it had started, but he didn’t know. He’d been spending so much time thinking about Mantle, trying to help it, that he didn’t know anymore when he’d dug into it, properly. It all bled together, like he’d been at it his entire time as an Ace Operative, even though that couldn’t be true.

“Why not just move him into Atlas, with you?” asked Robyn, a razor’s edge to her voice.

“Because it doesn’t solve the problem,” said Clover, and because he didn’t think they’d been together long enough to ask Marrow to move in. He also didn’t know if his apartment even _allowed_ faunus tenants. He’d never seen any when he was going around the building. “Even if I take Marrow out of Mantle, Mantle is still a mess. They need help. They need a leader.” He took a breath. “They need you.”

Robyn’s crossbow lowered. She looked him up and down, then sighed. “The worst part is, I don’t even need my semblance.” Her mouth quirked up on one side. “You were always a shitty liar.”

Clover lifted one hand and rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a quiet chuckle. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I really am.”

“Fine, so you want me in charge, you want to help. What are you doing about it?” asked Robyn.

Clover started, blinking a few times. Of all things, he hadn’t expected that, but he should have. “I’ve been redoing security whenever I can, trying to make it work for citizens. I talk a lot to people down here, ask them what they need, try to work with their needs. I’ve gone to a few city meetings, to listen to their complaints. I’ve been fortifying the walls, adding extra huntsmen watches at the start and end of each school days, and adding more lights.” He counted things off on his fingers, restarting whenever he ran out. “Plus, I’ve been working with General Ironwood to draft up a new set of bylaws to enact in both Mantle and Atlas, which we’ll be bringing to the Council once the election is over.” He shrugged. “We’d bring them in now, but you can’t pass by-laws with an open seat.”

Robyn nodded, eyebrows raising and lower lip jutting out a bit. She was impressed, or she looked it, anyway. “Not bad, soldier. Not bad. What about rights? Mantle citizens don’t count as much as Atlas ones, in votes, and our mines are filled with dangers.”

“Something else I’m working on with General Ironwood,” said Clover. He chanced bringing up the next part. “He really does care about Mantle, Robyn. He’s just got a lot going on. Getting you on the Council would start to fix so many problems, because he’d have someone close by that could tell him everything I can’t.”

Robyn scoffed. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere, pretty boy.”

“Hey, can’t blame me for trying,” said Clover, shrugging. Then, because he didn’t want to get off topic, he said, “I mean it, Robyn. We’re trying to help. We care. I care. I wouldn’t lie to you about that.”

“Fine,” said Robyn. “Say I believe you – which, fine, maybe I do. You were always too fucking earnest.” Clover couldn’t help the little chuckle that slipped out of him at that. Yeah, that was Robyn. “Actions speak louder. Talk to me, bring things to me, and ask me what we need. You want me to be a leader? Treat me as one. Got that?”

“Got it,” said Clover. He saluted, out of habit, and Robyn rolled her eyes.

“All right, golden boy, get back to your work. I’ll be around,” said Robyn.

“You going to stop stealing trucks?” asked Clover, raising his eyebrows.

Robyn hesitated at the edge of the shadows, smirking. “Stealing? I don’t see any stealing, Clover.” She lifted her hands in a shrug. “All I see is supplies going back where they belong.” With that, she vanished into the shadows, leaving Clover alone.

Clover sighed.

Yeah, he should have expected that.

* * *

The book release was pushed up. It was coming out next month. Clover couldn’t be more excited. He woke up that morning to the email from his agent and sent off a cheerful reply to her. He even offered to sign some copies in his apartment and drop them off somewhere, if she wanted. Apparently, he’d picked up quite a following in the romance world. Though, he didn’t know how the books were getting out of Atlas, considering the embargo. But they’d both published before the embargo, so it wasn’t that strange.

What about the new book, though? How would they get it out into the world? Maybe they would sneak them out? If Weiss could get out, then the books could, too. The books, and Dust, weren’t as big or as noticeable as an heiress. And Dust had been sneaking out of Atlas for months. Clover had seen the missing Dust reports. He’d seen the pilots that vanished the same time the Dust did, and returned two, three weeks later.

He didn’t tell General Ironwood. Mostly, he was focused on the information from the outside world that they had, when they came back.

What really worried him was that the pilot that had taken Weiss had never come back. It had been over a month, since the night she vanished. He feared something had happened to them. Weiss was a huntress, or a huntress in training, really, so he hoped she was okay. But he didn’t know.

He worried. And he couldn’t help the guilt that flooded him when he thought about it, for too long. Because he’d known she was sneaking away. He’d seen it happen. He’d _let_ it happen. But he hadn’t stopped her. Now, she and that pilot might be dead. That ship was gone. That pilot had a family – a boyfriend and a son, if Clover remembered properly – that might never see him again.

And it wouldn’t have happened, if Clover hadn’t let Weiss go. But if he’d said something, would the pilot have still gone wherever he ended up? Would Weiss have fallen to ruin and despair, being locked in a tower, away from everyone?

Would she have taken drastic action?

Would anything have changed?

He didn’t know. He couldn’t be certain. But the thoughts plagued him if he thought about it for too long, which he was doing, currently.

Clover shook it off and focused on the day ahead. He had training to do with students, a date later with Marrow, and an afternoon meeting with Winter Schnee and General Ironwood. Winter had returned from Mistral, weeks ago, and had been briefed on everything to do with Salem and the war. She’d also been introduced to Penny, or rather, reintroduced. Which reminded Clover, he needed to ask Robyn about Penny, and ask Penny about Robyn.

With luck, they’d all get Mantle cleaned up somewhat by the election, and Robyn would have a good base to work with as she fought for her people in the council.

Regardless, the meeting was to coordinate everything, get missions set-up, and prepare for the upcoming missions for Atlas Academy students. Clover wasn’t one of the huntsmen going with them, but he was overseeing the initial mission choosing. After what had happened in Beacon, with Team RWBY’s first year mission, General Ironwood insisted that several hunters be around for mission choosing, especially those who knew students. Just to be safe.

A lot of what General Ironwood did, these days, was just to be safe.

So, Clover prepared for the day, and then he let himself be consumed by said day. Training went well. Team FNKI was doing fantastic, especially for a second-year team. They should have been third years, but the delay of reopening the school had put everyone behind by about six months. It showed, because the team had obviously spent a lot of time training in the time Atlas Academy had been closed.

Then, there was the afternoon meeting with General Ironwood. Winter was still a bitch, but that was nothing new, so he let her snark roll off him and bit the inside of his cheek when she ranted about Weiss’ disappearance. He could have told her, but he didn’t. It wasn’t his business to tell her.

Especially when, much like Qrow Branwen, he didn’t know if she was alive or dead.

Then, it was time for his date with Marrow. They were going to a nice restaurant, which Clover was excited about. At least, he was, until Marrow wasn’t allowed in for being a faunus. Apparently the restaurant was under new management, as of two weeks ago, and the new management didn’t like faunus.

So, they got take-out, went back to Clover’s apartment, watched a movie while eating fried rice, and then absolutely left a couple new stains on his couch.

Life was stressful, but good, and Clover wouldn’t change it for anything.

* * *

General Ironwood was crying. That was the first thing Clover noticed, when he showed up in his office, that morning. He was staring at a piece of paper, held in his right hand, his left hand was over his mouth, and tears streamed silently down his face.

Clover hesitated in the doorway, mouth open and hand still raised from when he’d opened the door. He couldn’t find the words to say what he thought. There were alarms going off in his head. Fear that Weiss Schnee was dead. Fear that Qrow Branwen was confirmed dead. Fear that Atlas was going to fall.

Fear that this was the end of the world.

Did General Ironwood have family? Clover didn’t think so. But he didn’t know.

Was Dr. Polendina dead? Was Penny?

Who was dead? Who was dying? Who else had they lost in this war?

“General Ironwood?” His voice wobbled as he spoke, and he stepped forward with slow, hesitant steps, head tilted slightly, body angled so he could turn and walk out if the general didn’t want him here. “What’s going on?”

General Ironwood looked up, and Clover saw the wrinkles around his eyes, the tug at his cheeks, even behind his hand. There was a sparkle in those eyes, as well, something that hadn’t been there in so long. Clover paused. What was going on?

General Ironwood lowered his hand. He was _smiling._ “Clover.” He let out a quiet chuckle and wiped at his eyes. “Sorry. I…” He let out another chuckle. “He’s _alive_ , Clover. Qrow is alive. And he’s coming.” His smile shifted to a grin. “He’s coming to Atlas.”

If Clover’s heart was a bird, it would have sprung out of his chest and flown away. _Soared_ , was the only word that came to mind. The look on General Ironwood’s face helped with that. Qrow was alive. Qrow was alive and he was coming to Atlas. He probably had answers about what had happened to him.

“That’s incredible, sir,” said Clover. Then, because he couldn’t help himself. “Did he, uh, mention the kiss, in the letter?”

General Ironwood’s ears turned red. His grin dimmed, but the light in his eyes didn’t go out. That was a good sign, at least.

“He didn’t,” said General Ironwood, sounding a little disappointed. “But…” He sighed. “He’s okay. That’s what matters.”

“Of course, sir,” said Clover, folding his hands behind his back. “I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you, Clover.” He cleared his throat and set down the letter, smoothing out its wrinkles as if it were a family heirloom, rather than a simple, paper letter. “Now, what can I do for you?”

“Team FNKI is back from their mission, sir,” said Clover.

“Already? They were only gone a week.” General Ironwood raised his eyebrows. He gestured for Clover to sit down and Clover did. As they settled into their usual roles, Clover still couldn’t shake the giddiness that he felt. Qrow was alive.

Romance wasn’t dead.

* * *

The alert came sometime just after eleven at night, when Clover was winding down and getting ready to go home. He’d invited Marrow to come back with him, because they were supposed to have tomorrow off and he wanted to see how late they could stay up, so to speak.

There were rogue hunters in Mantle, using weapons, unauthorized. Clover frowned. They weren’t Atlas hunters, which meant they had come into the kingdom illegally. Which meant that they’d broken through the closed borders. Which meant security wasn’t doing its job.

The alert for the unauthorized ship that was found in Mantle came in while Clover and the Ace Operatives were on a ship headed down into Mantle. That settled how they’d gotten into Atlas, but why hadn’t anyone noticed them when they’d flown in, though?

Clover’s jaw gave a twinge, alerting him to his semblance as they landed. Huh, that was interesting. Why was his semblance going off without any real reason? Something was going on. Something strange.

He got his answer to why when they started throwing bolas to capture them all and his bolas wrapped around the one, the only, _Qrow Branwen._ Clover swore as he landed, hurrying to untie Qrow.

“Untie them,” said Clover. “They’re authorized. We just didn’t know they were here yet.”

“Clover?” Elm’s voice. Marrow shrugged and started untying everyone, helping them up. He started with the faunus girl, which Clover thought was sweet.

“General Ironwood knew they were coming,” said Clover. He helped Qrow to his feet, who was frowning at him. “This is Qrow Branwen, a friend of the General’s.” He didn’t miss the slight twitch of Qrow’s head at the word ‘friend’. “He sent a letter.”

“So it did beat us here,” murmured Qrow. Then, with a snort, he pushed away from Clover and dusted off his pants. “It wouldn’t have killed you to check _before_ you knocked us over.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have been so easy to knock over,” Harriet shot back, helping up the smallest kid. One of the girls picked up a glowing item that Clover narrowed his eyes at. Glowing lamp from Mistral? Had to be a relic. So, they had managed to get it. The General would like that.

“Yeah, because fighting Grimm and being up all fucking day doesn’t give us a pass,” snapped the blonde girl.

“Easy, easy,” said Clover, raising his hands. “Let’s get a transport and get you all up to General Ironwood.” He levelled Qrow with a significant look. “I’m sure he’ll be _very_ happy to see all of you.”

Qrow’s ears turned red. Clover smirked.

Yeah, romance wasn’t dead.

Not by a long shot.

Clover led the group to the school, then into the General’s office. From there, there were questions, comments, arguments. Ruby Rose, the leader of the teenagers, stepped forward and explained that there was a lot of information that they (the Atlesians) had that was inaccurate. She corrected it. All of it.

And the world, for the second time, cracked open beneath Clover’s feet. Salem had been human. Salem had fallen due to love. Salem couldn’t be destroyed, at least, not by Ozpin, who was hiding in Oscar’s head from what had happened.

In the end, Penny took the teenagers to the dorms, Winter and the Ace Operatives were told to head home, and Qrow stayed with the General, for a time.

Clover told Marrow he’d meet him outside and lingered, for a moment, in the solarium, to see what would happen.

He didn’t have to wait long.

Qrow came down the stairs and Clover disappeared behind a pillar, next to them, so that he was behind Qrow as he moved toward the elevator.

“Qrow.” General Ironwood’s voice was low and soft as he walked toward Qrow. Qrow paused and turned around, facing the general. He had a furrow in his brow and his lips were parted. The General paused in front of Qrow, his arms folded behind his back. Clover watched with bated breath.

General Ironwood smiled. “I meant it when I said it was good to see you.”

Clover grinned.

“Uh, yeah, you too,” said Qrow, rubbing the back of his neck. General Ironwood stepped forward and pulled Qrow into a tight hug. Qrow hesitated a moment, then wrapped himself around James, pressing his face into the crook of his neck. Even from his hiding spot, Clover could see the way Qrow shuddered in the general’s grip.

“I thought you were dead,” said the general, his voice barely above a whisper. The shape and silence of the solarium meant his voice carried to Clover, even though it shouldn’t have.

_Thank you, semblance._

“I’m sorry,” said Qrow, his voice hoarse. “Fuck, Jim, I tried to get in touch. I _tried_.”

“I know,” General Ironwood said, his body relaxing against Qrow’s. “I know.”

“You kissed me,” said Qrow. He lifted his head from General Ironwood’s shoulder to stare at him. Clover was struck with how pretty Qrow’s eyes were. A soft, off-red that wasn’t quite pink. He’d thought they were the harsh red of the Grimm, but they were so much better than that. A colour that spoke to Clover of compassion and love.

He was writing too many books, if he was working these sorts of descriptions into his everyday life.

“I did,” agreed the general.

“Why?”

General Ironwood turned pink. “I thought we were going to die.” He swallowed, throat bobbing even at this distance. “I didn’t want to die with regrets.”

“No regrets,” murmured Qrow. His gaze darted down to General Ironwood’s lips. Clover held his breath. “Yeah, I can understand that.”

And he leaned in and kissed the general.

Clover lifted his hand and bit down _hard_ on the soft part of his hand between his thumb and forefinger to keep himself from screaming. They were kissing! They were fucking _kissing_!

After years of suffering, and giving, and sacrificing, and listening to General Ironwood be helpless and hopeless in love, he finally got to _receive._ They were kissing!

He watched as the two pulled back, foreheads together, grinning. They spoke too low for Clover to hear, but a minute later, they were walking toward the elevator and leaving, fingers intertwined as they went.

Clover waited until the elevator was down multiple floors before he leapt from his hiding spot and cheered, pumping his fists into the air.

“Yes! Fucking _yes!_ ” he cheered. “Woo!” He did a little dance, maybe some air guitar, before dancing over to the elevator and hitting the button. Excitement and adrenaline bubbled and brewed under his skin until he felt like he was on fire.

Gods, Marrow was getting _railed_ tonight.

* * *

They got the next day off. Which was good, considering Marrow didn’t wake up until noon and was kinda, sorta, mostly limping around Clover’s apartment for the rest of the day.

Oops.

No regrets, though.

Clover had awoken early, possessed by a writing bug he couldn’t shake. He sat on the couch, laptop on his legs, and wrote like a madman, burning through the opening section of his fourth book. A pair of ex-military men who adopted war orphans after the war, having fallen in love on the front lines. In the first few chapters, the enemy rose up again and kidnapped several of their children in an attempt to take down the main characters, who had been the best of the best at what they did. The enemy wanted to kill the new leader of the country, the queen, but couldn’t with the men alive.

The two struck off, making sure their other children were safe with friends who were also military, and so began the journey of a violent takeback of their children, interspersed with flashbacks showing how they got together in the first place.

By the time Marrow stumbled out into the living room, wearing one of Clover’s long shirts and nothing else, Clover had made it up to chapter four.

“Morning,” mumbled Marrow, rubbing at one eye. His hair was down, parts of it sticking out, and Clover smiled at him. Purpling hickies bloomed across his neck, his collarbone, and parts of his shoulders that Clover could see, his shirt hanging off one of Marrow’s. They were also across his thighs, which Clover saw when Marrow walked. The shirt wasn’t long enough to be decent, and Clover knew that if Marrow turned around, he’d see hickies decorating the bottom curve of his ass, as well.

“Afternoon, actually,” said Clover, closing his laptop and setting it aside. Marrow climbed onto the couch and curled up against Clover, tucking his legs under him as he did. “How you feeling, babe?”

Marrow let out a quiet noise that Clover couldn’t place. Tired, maybe. “I feel like a pair of Goliaths fought in my _ass_.”

Clover winced. Maybe there were some regrets. “I am _so_ sorry.”

Marrow shrugged. “Aura is taking care of it. Just, uh, remember to reapply lube, next time?”

“Yup,” said Clover, with another wince. “And I will do whatever you want tonight to make it up to you, sex or otherwise.”

Marrow grinned up at him, teeth flashing. “Foot rubs and lasagna, it is.” A pause, then, “And you’re eating my ass to kiss it better.”

“Duh,” said Clover.

“I gotta ask,” said Marrow, and Clover tensed a little because he knew what was coming and there was no not-strange way to explain what had come over him, last night, “why were you so… _that_ last night?” Then, quickly, “Not that I’m complaining! I mean, I’m sore, yeah. But I think that’s the most orgasms I’ve ever had in one night.” Marrow’s eyes went wide and his voice went a little awed. “Actually, I’m sure of it. I didn’t think I could _have_ that many in one night.”

Clover let out a quiet, awkward chuckle, his cheeks warming. He lifted his free hand and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, uh… I’ve got talent, what can I say?”

“And years of honing your skill,” said Marrow drily.

Clover winced. “Okay, I might have been a _little_ promiscuous before we started dating…”

Marrow gave him a flat look. “Last time we played Truth or Dare with the others, Harriet asked you how many men you’d slept with, and you said you stopped counting at a hundred because it was already impressive.” Marrow raised an eyebrow. “You said you stopped counting _not long after you joined the Ace Ops._ ”

Clover winced even more. “Okay, yeah, I’m kind of a slut. But hey, I’m a _monogamous_ and dedicated slut, now.” He smiled at Marrow, who rolled his eyes, but smiled back.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Marrow, shoving his shoulder into Clover’s. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Greatest luck of my life,” murmured Clover. “No semblance can ever top it.”

Marrow blushed. “Sap.”

“Only for you,” said Clover.

Marrow narrowed his eyes. “You’re avoiding the question.”

“What question?” asked Clover, trying for his best innocent look. By Marrow’s narrowed eyes, he wasn’t managing it well. Oops.

“What got into you last night?”

“Uh…” Clover rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks burning. “Well…” He couldn’t very well tell Marrow that General Ironwood and Qrow had gotten together. They were probably hiding it, at least for the time being, considering how quiet the general had been about his feelings for Qrow. “Let’s just say I’m glad with how things are going, for now.”

Marrow chuckled and pressed a sloppy kiss to Clover’s cheek. “You’ll tell me when you can.” It wasn’t a question.

“I will,” agreed Clover. They cuddled together for awhile, until Marrow grimaced.

“I need a shower,” said Marrow. He stumbled to his feet, wincing from what Clover guessed was pain. Then, he turned and faced Clover, a twinkle in his eye. “Wanna join me?” He waggled his eyebrows.

Clover raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you a little sore for… anything else?”

“I am,” said Marrow, a hunger in his eyes shifting them a few shades darker. “But _you_ aren’t.”

Arousal stirred low in Clover’s gut.

_Oh._

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. We can do that.” He got to his feet and followed after Marrow, grinning all the way.

* * *

Having so many new people around meant changing routines and changing plans, especially with all the new information they brought in. On top of that, Clover’s book was coming out in a few short weeks. He wanted to sneak around the stores and sign a few copies. Sure, he couldn’t exactly prove it was him, but he had always used the same signature for his pen name. As long as none of the employees caught him, he’d be fine.

The focus was still on the coliseum and rebuilding it into a relay tower to restore worldwide communications. After that, Clover didn’t know what they’d do. That wasn’t his focus. His focus was on training these kids, enjoying his time with Marrow, and making sure his team was the best it could be.

They were all currently in one of the training rooms, working on anticipating strikes and patience. Some of them were better at it than others, while Ruby seemed not to know the meaning of the word.

Qrow tended to watch off to one side, rarely saying a word except to correct form and offer encouragement. He was quieter than Clover remembered, gentler, too. Apparently, he’d stopped drinking, which Clover hadn’t realized was a problem, but he was glad that Qrow had managed to sort things out for himself.

“Hey, Clover.” Qrow’s voice, low, as if he could sense Clover’s thoughts. Clover turned to face Qrow, who watched him with narrowed eyes. Clover moved across the training room, away from the chattering teens, and toward Qrow.

“What’s up?” asked Clover. He stuffed his thumbs in his belt loops and leaned against the wall next to Qrow. “Everything okay?”

Qrow nodded, but his eyes were still narrowed. “I had a question, for you.”

“Sure,” said Clover, beaming at him. “What can I do for you?”

Qrow was silent for a long minute, but Clover didn’t break the silence. He didn’t know Qrow, not well, anyway, but he knew plenty of hunters who’d been through hell and come back with the same glassy eyed expression and quiet voice. Trauma tore you up in ways that no one could fathom until they’d been through it themselves. Clover hadn’t. His job, despite its traumas, hadn’t been anything like what he imaged Qrow had been through.

You didn’t get a look like that in your eyes without going through horrors no man should ever face alone.

Sending people to their deaths, it was hard. But it wasn’t the same. He didn’t think it was the same, anyway.

“James,” said Qrow, drawing Clover out of his thoughts. “How’s he been?”

Clover took a moment to think about it. How _had_ the general been? And why was Qrow asking him? Shouldn’t he have been able to ask the general, himself, especially if they were together? Were they together? Had Clover seen the only soft moment between them?

He was overthinking this. The general hid his emotions, even from those he cared about. That was probably all it was.

“It’s been hard on him,” said Clover. “He’s been pushing himself too far, taking on too much, and he won’t let us help.” Clover lifted one hand and rubbed the back of his neck with it. “I worry about him.”

In the training room, someone shouted. One of the boys. Clover didn’t know who. He suspected Ren, because Jaune and Oscar’s voices were higher. Qrow’s gaze flitted to them, tension roiling through his entire body. He pushed off the wall and Clover lifted an arm, barring Qrow from moving forward. A moment later, laughter ripped through the room, including Ren’s.

Clover smiled at him. “Everything’s fine,” said Clover, voice soft. “They’re just training, trying to figure things out. My team is good, but those kids have a rapport I’ve never _seen_ in an Atlesian team, before. I wanted to bring us all together not just for the sake of the kids, so they could learn, but also for the sake of my team, so they could learn, too.”

Qrow furrowed his brow at Clover, gaze flicking up and down Clover’s body. Clover kept his body language and grinned at Qrow.

“People call us the best, and maybe that makes us arrogant, at times. But we’re not perfect, and we can always learn something new,” said Clover. He put his hands on his hips. “I’m glad you’re all here.” He watched Ruby tackle Vine, sending them both rolling across the floor.

Qrow sighed. When he spoke, his voice was low. “You know, I don’t understand you. You’re not like any Atlesian I’ve ever met, but I know for a fact your parents are part of Atlas’ one percent.”

Clover blinked. He hadn’t known Qrow knew that. Well, it made sense. His last name was public knowledge, as was the power of the Ebi name. They were the creators, and maintainers, of Scroll technology. Him joining the military was part of what pushed them to create military specific apps and Scrolls. The one-sided ones that all the kids used, as well as Specialists and other elite members of the military, were designed after he became a Specialist.

“I am,” agreed Clover. It wasn’t something he brought up, often, but Clover was technically the heir to the family, as he was an only child. He was always trying to find ways for his parents to name someone else as heir. They said they’d pick whoever he did. Clover had yet to find someone worthy of what he wanted the Ebi family to become.

Things he and Weiss had in common, he supposed.

“So, why are you a Specialist? An Ace Op?” asked Qrow. “You could spend your whole life coasting on your parents, taking over their company.” Qrow narrowed his eyes. “What, you have another Jacques in your family?

Jacques. Jacques Schnee. Clover grimaced. Ugh, the idea of his father being _anything_ like Jacques was disgusting. Hell, Clover wasn’t even supposed to exist. His parents had never tried to have children. It was just…

Luck.

“No, my parents are great,” said Clover, waving his hands in front of him. “I love them. I’d do anything for them. I just…” He rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled. “I was never one for business. I don’t have the mind for it. I wanted to help people in anyway I could, and as directly as I could.”

Qrow shook his head, a wry smile on his face. “So, you wanted to be a hero.” His gaze went to the kids and Clover noticed he was focusing on Ruby. “Yeah, I can see that. Can’t say I know a lot of Atlesians who want to be heroes.”

“I can think of at least one,” said Clover, thinking of Marrow.

“James wanted to be one, once,” said Qrow. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the wall. “He still does, I think. But not in the same way. More of an overseer, these days.”

“Yeah,” agreed Clover. He hadn’t known that about the general, but it made sense. Why wouldn’t he want to be a hero? It worked with everything else in his personality. “Do you think…” Clover trailed off, pressing his lips together.

“What?” asked Qrow, raising an eyebrow.

“Do you think it’ll get better? That _he’ll_ get better, now that you’re here?” Clover faltered at his choice in wording. “That you’re all here,” he clarified.

Qrow raised the other eyebrow, a suspicious look in his eyes. “I think so,” said Qrow, after a moment. Then, “I _hope_ so. He’s got answers, now, and more people working with him. I think it’ll do wonders.”

Clover hummed. It helped that Qrow was here, thought Clover. Not that he’d tell Qrow that.

“So, I gotta ask,” said Qrow, his voice picking up cheek. “What’s up with you and Marrow?”

Clover went red. “W-what?” He coughed, rubbing under his nose with one finger. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He glanced away, toward the others, and saw Marrow showing Jaune a tactic for shielding with his sword, rather than just his shield. Marrow caught his gaze and smiled at him. Clover smiled back before he could stop himself.

Qrow chuckled. Clover turned redder.

“Yeah, somehow, I don’t believe you,” said Qrow. Clover glanced at Qrow and saw Qrow put his hands on his hips. “So, the two of you? I didn’t know human/faunus relationships were legal in Atlas.”

Clover winced. That was the part that tripped up a lot of people coming into Atlas. “They are,” he said. “Or, they have been for almost a decade. It’s marriage and adoption that are illegal.” He grimaced. “And… having children can be a grey area, sometimes. If a faunus/human pregnancy results in a faunus child, there’s no trouble, but if the child doesn’t manifest any faunus traits…”

“People get twitchy,” said Qrow. “Think the faunus parent isn’t good enough for the kid.”

Clover sighed and bowed his head. “Precisely.” Then, “Not that Marrow and I have to worry about that.”

Qrow hummed. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the wall, watching the three teams as they trained with a small smile on his face.

“No,” agreed Qrow. “But you’re certainly making the world better for kids. I’ll give you that much.”

Clover beamed. “Thanks, Qrow! I really appreciate that.”

Qrow waved him off. “Yeah, whatever. Don’t let it go to your head.”

Clover kept grinning.

He was definitely going to let it go to his head.

* * *

Robyn won the election. Mantle started getting tied up. General Ironwood showed her everything, took her our to the coliseum, and told her about Salem. She stared, she stumbled, she asked questions.

She agreed to help.

Mantle rose, figuratively, in only a few short weeks.

Jacques went to jail as Willow Schnee found proof of his conspiring with monsters. The children cheered while they hunted down monsters.

Arthur Watts and Tyrian Callows vanished into the wind, but their damage was undone, and Mantle was having its security holes closed. When they returned, and they would, everyone would be ready.

Things were going well.

* * *

Launch day for his book went great. Clover snuck around and signed some copies in various bookstores and erased a few logs of cargo ships that had extra weight from books and other trades. The embargo was… unfortunate, but necessary to try and keep traitors from slipping in and out of Atlas.

He just made a habit of letting things sneak out of Atlas. Let people get books and media and Dust as they could.

Of course, with all the stuff that had happened in the last few months, and with the SDC now more moral and led by Willow Schnee, the embargo was going to be lifted soon. Clover knew that was, in part, because if two of Salem’s underlings could get in with it in place, then the embargo wasn’t having the proper effect. Security would make up the difference, as would upgrades to Mantle’s systems.

It kept Clover busy, to say the least.

As the days passed, the book sold off the shelves. People in Atlas, in Mantle, in the other, smaller settlements of the kingdom, and all over Remnant, according to letters his agent received, all of them were buying the book. It was his best hit yet, and the book hit the bestsellers list, the _real_ bestsellers list, not the niche ones, within two weeks.

And it was just after that, when everything was calm, when the Amity Project was going great, when Clover was having the time of his life, that everything went to hell.

Because of course it did.

Clover was chatting with the kids on his way into the general’s office when Qrow appeared – literally, he was a bird, then he was a man, dropping down in front of Clover with a flare of his red eyes and a snarl on his face. Clover stumbled backward, arms up, eyes wide.

“You. Office. _Now_ ,” growled Qrow. He threw his gaze over Clover’s shoulder, still looking pissed. “The rest of you, go train.”

“But—” started Ruby.

“Not now,” said Qrow. Then, a little softer, “This is important, Ruby, I’m sorry. But it’s only about the three of us.” He looked at Clover with so much vitriol that Clover cowered beneath it. _Damn._ No wonder there were stories about Qrow in Mistral. No wonder people were terrified of him in so many places of the world.

Clover was, too.

“Good luck,” muttered Harriet.

“I don’t know what you did,” said Elm. “But you probably deserve this.”

Marrow gave Clover a worried look and squeezed his shoulder. Everyone left and Qrow stalked up the stairs and into the general’s office. Clover followed after, hunching into himself and shaking slightly.

There was only one thing this could be.

He should have stopped while he was ahead.

But he hadn’t.

And now he was going to pay the price.

_Fuck._

In the office, General Ironwood stood behind his desk, facing the window, his hands clasped behind his back. Even from across the room, Clover could see the tension in his shoulders, his back, his arms. The clenched hands at waist level. The rigidity with which the general held himself. On the desk, Clover’s books, laying cover up. They mocked Clover, staring up at him. If objects could speak, those books would have a thousand stories to tell. Stories of late nights, of pacing, of muttering to himself while he chugged coffee late into the night.

Three books, three stories. Three incriminating points of evidence.

Fuck.

“Clover.” Hard, flat. At least he was still using Clover’s first name. That was a sign. Not necessarily a good one, but a sign, nonetheless. Familiarity, whether to use against Clover, or to use to indicate this wasn’t the end. Only one way to find out which one it was.

“Sir,” said Clover. He shifted, hands fisted at his sides, back straight. He didn’t want to give the general any other reason to be mad at him. “I…”

“You know why you’re here.” No question. No room for argument. Flat, sharp. The tone he used not just to reprimand, but to play judge. This was the voice before the threats started, before the anger bubbled over. The voice that was meant to instill fear in whoever he turned it on.

It was working.

Clover swallowed.

“Yes, sir,” said Clover, struggling to keep his voice steady.

“Clover.” Again, his name. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

He did. But General Ironwood was going to tell him, anyway. Or so Clover assumed.

“I-I think so, sir,” said Clover, fear making his voice wobble.

“Then please, tell me what you did,” said the general. He still didn’t turn from the window. He stood in such a way that his body blocked his reflection. Qrow hovered behind Clover, not saying a word. But Clover could feel his presence like a looming Grimm.

He didn’t dare turn around to see what Qrow looked like. It would only make it worse.

“I… I wrote some books,” said Clover.

“Is that all?” asked General Ironwood. There was a false calmness in his voice now, it being a mask only clear by the slight wobble in his voice. The hard edge beyond the amiable tone. Clover swallowed.

“No,” said Clover, struggling to find a way to phrase all this without making it worse. “I, um…” He faltered, words falling away. “I’m _so sorry._ ”

“Sorry?” All false calmness gone. A twisting to the edge that took his voice from annoyed to nigh manic. “You’re _sorry_?” General Ironwood turned from the window. His eyes were red-rimmed. His face moved as he clenched and ground his jaw. “Do you have any idea the magnitude of what you’ve done?”

“I—”

“You have violated our privacy, betrayed my trust, made a fool of both of us, disrupted our lives, shared our secrets to the world, and—”

“You wrote erotica about your boss. Your very private, very sensitive boss,” said Qrow, circling Clover. “The one with the secret prosthetics and the glove he uses to keep said prosthetics from the public.” Qrow folded his arms across his chest, standing next to James.

“I didn’t include prosthetics in the books,” said Clover words tumbling out of him. “I knew it would be inappropriate, and I didn’t want to guess at—”

“You knew _that_ would be inappropriate but thought writing invasive fanfiction about us wasn’t?” asked the general, sounding incredulous. “Where is the logic there, Clover?”

Clover swallowed. He dropped his gaze to the floor and shuffled his feet in place. “I don’t know,” he confessed, voice barely above a whisper. “I—I never used your names. And military romance is a popular indie genre. There’s no reason to connect me to my penname.”

“So, no one knows it’s all based on us?” asked Qrow, cocking an eyebrow.

Clover opened his mouth to agree, then froze when he realized that wasn’t _strictly_ true.

“One other person knows,” said Clover, wincing. He couldn’t lie. Lying would only make it worse. But if he was about to lose his job, he was going to cost Marrow his own, as well. Clover didn’t think Marrow would forgive him for that one. Hell, _he_ wouldn’t forgive himself for that one.

Fuck.

“Who?” A demand phrased as a question. Clover fought the urge to step back, toward the door and away from the general.

Why had he done this, again?

“Marrow,” said Clover. He swallowed, and it stuck, sliding slow and painful all the way down. “I told him about it, um, just after I realized you two had gotten together. So not long ago. He hasn’t told anyone.”

Qrow and the general looked at one another. Beneath the anger, the fear, there was confusion, curiosity.

“How did you know we…” The general trailed off, but the question hung in the air.

“I saw you,” admitted Clover, the truth of what he’d done burning his lips as he spoke. “I was hiding in the solarium and I saw you two. I…” He needed to say this. If he didn’t, things would get worse, later. “It’s not the first time I’ve seen something between you two that I shouldn’t have.”

The general went white and wide eyed. “You… When I told you about my feelings, you already knew. I _trusted_ you.” The brokenness of the general’s voice betrayed his horror, his pain, as good as his expression did. “I told you those things in confidence, and you wrote books about my feelings—our feelings. How _could_ you?”

“I…” He swallowed. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what’s it like?” asked Qrow. “C’mon, Clover, you’re a smart man.” A shadow fell across Qrow’s face, his eyes narrowing and his gaze intensifying. _Shit._ “You must have a good answer.”

Clover swallowed, again. But there was nothing left to swallow, his mouth, and his tongue, were dry. He went to lick his lips and found them dry as well.

“Um… I didn’t—” But he had, hadn’t he? He’d started picking apart the general’s feelings and immediately turned them into a hobby. He’d spied, he’d violated, and he’d speculated. He’d told the feelings of two men to the world, albeit in a twisted and anonymous way, and he’d betrayed the trust of a man he considered both his boss and his friend. “I didn’t…” How many times had he wanted to help with the general’s love life? How much had be abused his semblance, even accidentally, to get to where he was, now.

But… but he’d never told.

He’d never told his agent, his sensitivity readers, his editors – no one. No one in the world, bar the three men in this room and Marrow, knew about the inspiration for those three pairs of characters. Did it matter? Maybe not. But Clover was putting the pieces together, now. They’d asked if anyone knew Clover had written the books.

But they thought – at least, General Ironwood thought – that plenty more had put together the inspiration behind the characters. That the general reading public was mocking him, aware of his feelings, his insecurities, and all that he’d privately shared with Clover.

As if Clover had ever pulled more than a bit from those two, and hadn’t spun out entire stories off one interaction, rather than try to piece together the full of their relationship.

“No one knows it’s you,” said Clover, his voice surprisingly steady. He spooky firmly, brisk but not too fast, so that neither man could interrupt him. He wanted them to hear him. He wanted them to _listen._ “Nether of you read the books, right?” He didn’t give them a chance to respond. “It’s not _you_. Yes, there are huge parts of those stories, those characters, based on you, but it’s not what you think. I’m not telling your stories, I’m not spilling your secrets. I’d see you two interact once, and I’d build a story off it. There’s one about a spy and a military instructor who send letters back and forth, and when they meet, they realize they’re in love.” His cheeks were burning. “In one of them, one of the two men is a faunus with full-sized wings. I never made them _you_.”

He swallowed, but his mouth was still dry. His tongue hurt from how much he spoke without being able to wet it. “I never set out to write about you two. There’s too much I don’t know, and even I’m not that short-sighted.” His cheeks burned. Gods, here he was, dragging out his biggest insecurities and weaknesses to try and make up for his mistakes.

“So, yes, those stories have some basis in you. And yes, Marrow knows. But no one else does. I’ve been on the forums, I’ve watched the fan videos. I watch the people who read my books. I’ve never seen any rumour that it could be about you two. It’s not who the public sees. It’s not knowledge any of them would have.” Clover took another breath. “And even if they saw you two, together, out there, no one is going to know. Because I wrote about things I never should have seen. Things you’d never _let_ anyone see. And I changed them around so much that even people who know you can’t tell I where I got my inspiration from.”

Elm had read them. She didn’t know Clover would write them. She didn’t see the similarities. She thought they were some of the best characters she’d ever read about.

“If you want to fire me, fire me,” said Clover. “I know I deserve it. But I swear to you, no one else will ever figure it out. Marrow only did because he knows me, and you, General, so well. And I’m never telling anyone I wrote them.”

He was out of breath, body trembling against the fear. Did he say enough? Did he help the general and Qrow understand that this wasn’t the end?

They’d just gotten together. He didn’t want to tear them apart.

“I wanna know something,” said Qrow. “Before we drop any hammers.”

Clover lifted his gaze from where he’d been staring at the floor. He let out a slow exhale to control his breathing, if not his heartrate. “What’s that?” he asked.

“Why do it?” asked Qrow. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the side of the desk. “If you’re so upset about doing it, then why did you start? Why did you ever write about us?”

Not the act of publishing. Not the act of spying. But the act of writing.

Clover could answer this.

“Because I never understood,” started Clover, his voice soft. He held Qrow’s narrowed gaze with his own wide, soft one as he spoke. “Sure, love made sense in theory, but it never clicked with me. I thought I just wouldn’t ever feel it – and that’s fine. I know plenty of people who don’t, and they’re awesome – but that never felt right for me. I knew I was missing it. But I never understood _why_ I wanted romance. Not until I saw how you two looked at each other.”

“Clover…,” started the general, but Clover kept going, pushing forward with speed as his enthusiasm built.

“I saw my parents, the people around me, and I thought it was nice, but I didn’t get how it could change a person. I never got what it _did_ to you.” Clover looked to the general, then to Qrow, then at both of them at once, his gaze no longer as narrow. His hands moved as he spoke. “Then I saw you two. I saw you, together, alone. I saw the way you looked at each other, even if the other didn’t. I saw something there and…” Clover dropped his gaze and let out a sigh. “It clicked. Something in me _clicked_ and I understood it. Romance made sense for the first time.” He looked up at them, through his eyelashes, fidgeting his hands, which he clasped together in front of him, at his waist.

Neither of the other men spoke. So, Clover kept going.

“I’m sorry. I broke your trust, I ruined our relationships, and I won’t protest if you want to arrest me. But I’d do it again. Taking those things I saw, turning them into stories, it was how I figured out how I felt about romance. It helped me understand love, and to go from this shallow, one-night-stand kinda guy to the man I am now – one in a dedicated relationship, I might add.” Clover let out another sigh. He was running out of words. “But, I am sorry. I don’t think anyone will figure it out. I think they would have already, if they were going to. It’s just our secret. And I’ll stop now.”

Nothing. Clover looked from one of them to the other, frowning. He still didn’t lift his head.

“Should… should I go pack up my stuff?” asked Clover, tentatively.

General Ironwood sighed and bowed his head. “No, Clover. There’s no need for you to go.” He pulled out his chair and sat down, heavily, in it. He braced his elbows on the desk and folded his hands in front of him. They obscured his face, mostly his mouth, and left Clover even less sure of what the general was thinking.

“What… what should I do then?” asked Clover, fidgeting.

“Just… stand there,” said the general, not looking at him. He sighed. He kept his eyes closed, and his head bowed. Clover waited. One minute, then two. He tried not to move, but the way Qrow watched him, with narrowed eyes and a distant understanding, left him uneasy. What did Qrow know that Clover didn’t?

“You know what the word ‘demisexual’ means?” asked Qrow, cocking an eyebrow at him. Clover jumped. He shook his head, eyes wide. What? “Demisexual means you don’t feel sexual attraction to someone until you’re really close to them, best friend levels of close.” Qrow leaned against the desk, cocking his head. “Demi _romantic_ is similar, but with romantic attraction. It overlaps with other sexualities, so you can be gay, but also demiromantic.”

Clover blinked. One by one, the pieces clicked together. His lack of attraction to those he slept with, beyond physical. How he’d never had ‘crushes’ growing up, but he knew he was attracted to men. Tying in with his lack of close friendships until the Ace-Ops…

_Oh._

“Demiromantic,” murmured Clover, trying out the word. He couldn’t help the hope that bloomed and flowered in his chest, overtaking the panic and anxiety that had settled there. “ _There’s a word for it._ ” His voice was barely a whisper, wobbling with emotion he couldn’t choke back.

_There was a word for it._

“Yeah, I thought as much,” said Qrow. “Jim’s the same way.” He nodded to the general. Clover was _never_ going to get used to the way Qrow referred to the general. It was strange, to say the least. “Took him ‘til he was older than you to figure it out, though.”

Clover looked at the general, who still didn’t move, though Clover could see the slight rise and fall in his shoulders, so he was still breathing, at least. The man sat far too still when he wanted to.

“Sir?”

“The worst part is, I can’t even fault you, knowing why you did it. What you did was _wrong_ , but I completely understand it,” said General Ironwood. He looked up. He looked at lot younger, more vulnerable, now. “When I first fought to understand romance, I consumed all I could, but it never clicked with me. I came to understand it in much the way you did, an understanding through connection, leading to my own feelings, in time.” He cast a glance to Qrow. “Though it took me much longer to come to terms with how I felt, and act upon those feelings.”

Qrow flashed him a grin so easygoing that Clover almost didn’t believe he was a huntsman.

“Ah, don’t worry ‘bout it, James. We’ve got time. Neither one of us is going anywhere,” said Qrow, shrugging. General Ironwood returned his smile, though it was much smaller.

“I’m not firing you,” said General Ironwood returning his gaze to Clover. “Nor will I stop your… escapades in writing. However, your spying? Stops now.” Clover nodded, sharp and quick. “And if you base _anything_ on us again, we will be reading it before it goes out.”

“Sir?”

“I… suffice to say, I didn’t understand what you were doing,” said the general, slowly. “But I can understand, now. And, I’ll admit, I’m curious. After all, the latest book of yours is on the bestsellers list for Remnant. Though, I’d love to know how it’s reaching those in _Vacuo._ ” Clover winced and looked away. The general hummed. “I thought as much.”

The general stood and circled his desk. He rested a hand on Clover’s shoulder and Clover stared at him, far too aware of their differences in height, in build, and in experience. The general was so much older, so much more experienced, than he was, and yet Clover had reduced the man to fear, and perhaps tears, with only words.

It seemed unfair that giants could fall to such simple things.

“I’m honoured to know we could help you understand who you are,” said the general, his tone soft. “And to know that I helped someone like myself figure things out long before I ever did.”

Clover smiled, tiny. “Thank you, sir. I’m glad to know, too.”

“Now, why don’t you tell me about these books?” said the general, guiding Clover to the low chair in front of his desk. “One of them is about a faunus? I’d like to know what these are about, before I approve you continuing to write. And if any are too similar to Qrow and myself, there will be repercussions.”

Clover nodded. “Yes, sir!” He dropped into the chair and grabbed the oldest book, flipping out as he began to explain what it, and the books published after, were about.

* * *

General Ironwood and Qrow loved all three books. Clover found himself getting text messages late into the night as the men read the books together, and Qrow spent a great deal of time rambling about what he liked about the books on missions. Clover found himself blushing more than once as Qrow _preened_ over how “his” characters in each book were described. Because Clover wrote so much in the other point of view, the “Qrow” characters (if one were to call them that) were often described in very alluring and sexual ways. Qrow seemed to take it as an invitation to tease-flirt with Clover.

Marrow thought it was _hilarious._

General Ironwood helped Clover with some of his issues in military writing, showing him specific rankings and protocols that Clover would have no idea about, otherwise, and Clover’s fourth book, the one about adoption, went on hold as the war with Salem picked up.

And it stayed on hold as the fighting grew, as the injures tallied, as Clover came to understand loss, and as magic became as real as the heart that beat in his own chest. And as he came to realize that Ozpin, strange and broken as they were, was right.

Victory was in a smaller, simpler soul.

A _silver_ soul with a heart of gold.

Two years later, when the war was over, and everyone was safe, Clover finally got his fourth book out into a free and peaceful Remnant. He signed copies late into the night, Marrow at his side and giving him coffee, to ensure that every bookstore possible had a few signed copies to sell to fans.

And inside that book, on the dedication page, it read:

_Dedicated to the two men that inspired the start of my writing career._

_Thank you for teaching me what love is._

_And to my fiancé. Thank you for saying “yes” the first time, and every time after that._

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are greatly appreciated in this time of struggle. Even just a <3 or an "extra kudos" to let me know you were here is amazing. I appreciate each and every one of you. Thank you for being here and supporting me despite my weird update schedule during quarantine.


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